
Glass 

Book j& 



REFLECTIONS 



DEATH. 



%U 



BY WILLIAM DODD, L. L. D. 

LATE CHAPLAIN TO THE LORD BISHOP OF ST- DAVIDS. 

CORRECTED AND ENLARGED, WITH OCCASIONAL NOTES 
AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 

BY G. WRIGHT, ESQ. 

AUTHOR OF te SOLITARY WALKS/' &C. 



JOHNSON'S EDITION. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

PRINTED FOR R. JOHNSON, NO. 2, NORTH THIRD STREET. 
1806, 



g* TO THE 

c* RIGHT HONOURABLE 

^THE EARL OF BUTE, 

FIRST LORD OF HIS MAJESTY'S TREASURY, KNIGHT OF TKH 
MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, &.C. &X. 

MY LORD, 

WHATEVER may be the execution of the 
little performance which I have the honour to 
present to your lordship, it will derive some 
merit, I am persuaded, in your lordship's sight, 
from the good meaning wherewith it was writ- 
ten, from its suitableness to my profession, and 
from the importance of its subject. Perhaps 
too, its author's undissembled respect for your 
lordship may give it some additional value; for 
true respect, we are assured, can give value to 
the smallest offerings from the hands of the 
poorest. 

But, indeed, I did not know to whom I could, 
with greater propriety, inscribe a work of this 
nature^ than to a nobleman* whose regular life, 



IV DEDICATION. 

and punctual discharge of all the social duties 
must render Reflections on Death not unpleas- 
ing ; whose regard to works of literature hath 
always been eminent and consistent ; and who, 
though continually employed in affairs of the 
highest moment, hath testified that regard by 
the most favourable attention to men of science 
and learning. 

From hence, my lord, we are encouraged to 
promise the fairest days to good letters and 
good manners : — they cannot but flourish under 
your discerning eye, and the fostering patronage 
of our beloved monarch ; in whose unsullied 
virtues, while his people felicitate themselves, 
no grateful man can be insensible of the honour, 
which redounds to the illustrious person, who 
had so considerable a share in forming the royal 
mind to virtue ; and inspiring it with those 
great, just, and patriot sentiments, which have 
obtained to our sovereign, from his subjects, 
that most honourable of all appellations, — the 
Good. 

Happy in your prince's favour, my lord, and 
happy in the consciousness of your own inte- 



DEDICATION. V 

grity, you will go on to deserve and to obtain 
the esteem and affection of all men of science, 
of virtue, and religion. So will your name be 
placed high in that temple of true glory, where 
the whispers of malevolence, and the clamours 
of faction, shall never be heard : where envy, 
the unfailing shadow of merit, shall never be 
permitted to enter : and where< — when that me- 
lancholy hour is come, which no might nor 
greatness in mortality can delay — that hour, in 
which you, my lord, shall be lost to your friends, 
to your country, to your king, your monument 
shall proclaim the glorious truth, that " You 
w were a principal instrument in putting an end 
ci to a war, uncommonly wide and extensive; 
" and of restoring peace to an exhausted and 
"depopulated world." 

I am,, my lord, with the most respectful ack- 
nowledgments for this indulgence, 

Your Lordship's 

most obliged and devoted 

humble servant, 

WILLIAM DODD, 

Westham, Jan. 1, 1763. 
A 2 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



THESE Reflections were first written 
with a design to be published in a small 
volume proper to be given away by well- 
disposed persons at funerals, or on any 
other solemn occasion. But the editors 
of the Christian's Magazine, supposing 
they might be of some service to that use- 
ful and well- esteemed work, requested the 
author first to print them there, and after- 
ward to pursue his original design. Ac- 
cordingly, they were printed in separate 
chapters, and he hath reason to be satis- 
fied with the reception they met with. His 
best prayers accompany them in their pre- 
sent form, that they may be found useful 
to mankind. 



REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 
CHAP. I. 



To die — to sleep — 



No more : and by a sleep, to say, we end 

The he art -ache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to : 'tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be wish'd — to die, to sleep — 

To sleep ! — perchance to dream : aye, there's the rub y 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause : there's the respect 

That makes calamity of so long life ; 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of times, 

Th' oppressor's wrongs, the proud man's contumely. 

The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 

That patient merit of the unworthy takes — 

But that the dread of something after death 

(That undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 

No traveller returns) puzzles the will, 

And makes us rather bear the ills we have, 

Than fly to others that we know not of. 

Shakespeare, 

m 

A FEW evenings ago, I was called to per- 
form the last sad office to the sacred remains of 
a departed friend and neighbour.* 

* Ministers who are often called to attend the dying-beds 
and funerals of the young and old, the rich and poor, profes* 



It is too commonly found, that a familiarity 
with death, and a frequent recurrence of fune- 
rals, graves, and church-yards, serve to harden 
rather than humanize the mind ; and to deaden 
rather than excite those becoming reflections, 
which such objects seem excellently calculated 
to produce. Hence the physician enters, with- 
out the least emotion, the gloomy chambers of 
expiring life : the undertaker handles without 
concern the clay-cold limbs: and the sexton 
whistles unappalled, while his spade casts forth 
from the earth the mingled bones and dust of his 
fellow-creatures. "^ And, alas ! how often have 
I felt with indignant reluctance my wandering 
heart engaged in other speculations, when called 
to minister at the grave, and to consign to the 
tomb the ashes of my fellow-creatures ! 

sors and profane, are best calculated, or at least best furnished 
with materials, to enforce on all, the necessity of reflecting 1 on 
death, and preparing for it. 

* See yonder maker of the dead man's bed, 

The Sexton . 

Poor wretch ! he minds not 

That soon some trusty brother of the trade, 
Shall do for him what he hath done for thousands. 

Blair's Grave. 



Yet nothing teacheth like death :* and though 
perhaps the business of life would grow torpid, 
and the strings of activity be loosed, were men 
continually hanging over the meditation — yet, 
assuredly, no man should fail to keep the great 
object in view ; and seasonably to reflect that the 
important moment is coming, when he too must 
mingle with his kindred clay ; when he too must 
appear before God's awful judgment-seat ; when 
he too must be adjudged by a fixed, irrevocable, 
and eternal decree. f 

As I entered the church-yard, 

Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap : 
Where— each in his narrow cell forgotten laid, 

so many of my friends, my neighbours, and my 
fellow-creatures, lie mouldering in dust : — - 

* Wait the great teacher death. Dr. Young. 

f It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the 
judgment. Heb. ix. 27. 

This is one of the most awful texts in the sacred writings, 
and cannot be too much insisted on and enforced, both from 
the pulpit and the press. 



10 

struck with the slow and solemn sound of the 
deep-toned bell, and particularly impressed with 
the afflicting circumstances of his death, whose 
obsequies I was going to perform, I found the 
involuntary tear rush from mine eyes, and the 
unbidden sigh heave in my labouring bosom. * 

And, Oh Death, mighty conqueror, I could 
not forbear saying, in the silence of unaffected 
meditation — Oh Death, how terrible, how won- 
derful thou art! Here I stand, full of life; 
health smiling on my cheek, and sparkling in 
my eye ; my active feet ready to bear me briskly 
along, and my hands prompt to execute their 
appointed office ; scenes of pleasing felicity are 
before me ; the comforts of domestic serenity 
dwell seemingly secure around me ; and my 
busy soul is planning future improvements of 
happiness and peace. — But the moment is com- 
ing, perhaps is near, when life's feeble pulse 
shall play no longer ; these eyes no more spar- 

* The reader cannot but observe these reflections are writ- 
ten in a similar style to Hervey's celebrated Meditations ; a 
style Dr. Dodd was peculiarly fond of, and adopted particu- 
larly in the pulpit, as the most pleasing 1 , affecting", and ener- 
getic. 



11 

kle, nor this cheek glow with health ; that, pale 
as the shroud that invests me, and those closed 
to unclose and awaken no more on earth ; the 
feet shall decline their function, and the useless 
hands fall heavily down by my side.* Farewel 
then all the engaging and endearing scenes around 
me ; farewel the comforts of domestic peace : 
my much -loved friend shall weep tenderly over 
me ; and my thinking, restless, busy soul at 
length find sweet repose, and be anxious no 
more. 

It is fixed : and all the powers of earth can 
neither arrest nor divert the sure, unerring 
dart! but with consummate wisdom the great 
Lord of the world, hath wrapped up the im- 

* Dr. Watts happily meditates on the dissolution of the body, 
in the following lines : 

And must this body die, 

This mortal frame decay ? 
And must these active limbs of mine. 

Lie mouldVing in the clay ? 
Corruption, earth, and worms 

Shall but refine this flesh, 
Till my triumphant spirit comes 

To put it on afresh, 



12 

portant moment in impenetrable darkness from 
human view ; that from the cradle we might 
have the solemn object before us, and act as 
men, because as men we must die ! 

Let me then not labour to divert the improv- 
ing speculation, but advance still nearer, and see, 
if I can learn, what it is to die ! 

To die I Oh you, my friends, amidst whose 
graves I now am wandering — you, who not long 
since, like me, trod this region of mortality, 
and drank the golden day* — with you the bit- 
terness of death is past ; you have tasted what 
that is, which so much perplexes the human 
thought, of which we all know so little, and yet 
of which we all must know so much ! Oh ! could 
you inform me what it is to die, could you tell 
me what it is to breathe the last gasp ; what are 
the sensations of the last convulsion, of the last 
pang of dissolving nature ! Oh could you tell 
me how the soul issues from the lifeless ^dwell- 
ing which it has so long inhabited ! what un- 
known worlds are discovered to its view T ; how 
it is affected with the amazing prospect ; how it 

* See Dr. Young's Night Thoughts, Night IV. line 144. 



13 

is affected with the remembrance and regftrd of 
things left here below— Oh could ye tell me — 
but alas ! how vain the wish !* — clouds and 
darkness rest upon it : and nothing but expe- 
rience must be allowed to satisfy these anxious 
researches of dying rationals. 

Yet let us not forbear these researches : or at 
least not relinquish the interesting meditation, 
,For what can be of equal importance to a man, 
destined inevitably to tread the path of death — - 
what of equal importance to examine, as whither 
that path leads, and how it may be trod success- 
fully ? f — what of equal importance for a pilgrim 
of a day to contemplate, as that great event 

* But ah ! no notices they give, 
Nor tell us how or where they live ; 
As if bound up by solemn fate, 
To keep this secret of their state ; 
To tell their joys nor pains to none, 
That man might live by faith alone. 

Solitary Walks. 

f . . . . The thought of death indulge, 
Give it its wholesome empire, let it reign, 
That kind chastiser of the soul in joy. 

Night Thoughts. 



14 

which must open to him a state unalterable and . 

without end ? 

All men must tread that gloomy path — It is 
appointed for all men once to die. — Adam's 
curse is upon all his posterity.*" Dust they are, 
and to dust they must return. — But whither 
leads that gloomy path ! — Alas, in the heathen 
World, with a bewildered mind they sought the 
resolution of that question — Death was dreadful 
indeed in such circumstances : for if we want 
the glad hope of immortality to cheer our de- 
parting souls, what affliction can even be con- 
ceived more affecting than death and dissolu- 
tion, a separation from all we hold dear upon 
earth, and a perfect annihilation of all future ex- 
pectations ?f 

Life and immortality are brought to light by 
the gospel: and the question is answered clearly 
from that book whence alone we can gain infor* 

* Rom. v. xii. 

f Annihilation is an after thought, 

A monstrous wish, unborn till virtue dies. 

Dr. Young. 



15 

mation on this point — " Once to die, and after 
that be judged.* — We must all stand before the 
judgment seat of Christ. 55 Oh my soul, how 
awful a reflection! can any thing more be want- 
ing to inspire thee with the most serious pur- 
poses, and most devout resolves, than the cer- 
tainty of death, the assurance of judgment, the 
knowledge of mortality ! 

And after death be judged !j Tell me no 
more of the pangs of death, and the torment of 
corporeal sufferings : — What, what is this, and 
all the evils of life's contracted span to the 
things that follow after ?} — This it is which 
makes death truly formidable, which should 
awaken every solemn reflection, and stimulate 
every rational endeavour ! 

* Acts xxvii. 31. 

f Well might Felix tremble, when St. Paul reasoned of 
righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come. Acts 
xxiv. 25. 

\ If there's an hereafter, 

And that there is, Conscience unintinencM, 
And suffer'd to speak out, tells every man ; 
Then must it be an awful tiring to die, 

Blaih's Grave, 



16 

To be judged ! to be sentenced by an irre- 
versible decree, to an allotment eternal and un- 
changeable ; an allotment of consummate feli- 
city, or consummate distress.^ 

Oh immortality, how much doth the thought 
of thee debase in their value every earthly en- 
joyment, every earthly pursuit and possessiohf 
— and shew man to himself in a point of view, 
which amply discovers his true business on 
earth, which amply discovers the true dignity 
of his nature, and forcibly reproves his wretch- 
ed attachment to all sublunary things. 

And methinks, as if a voice were speaking 
from yonder grave — I hear a solemn whisper to 
my soul ! 

" Every grave proclaims thy own mortality ! 
child of the dust, be humble and grow wise ! a 
few days since, like thee I flourished in the fair 

* The wicked shall go away into everlasting* punishment, 
but the righteous into life eternal. Matt, xxv, 16. 

f His hand the good man fastens to the skies, 
And bids earth roU, nor feels her idle whirl. 

Night Thoughts. 



17 

field of the earthly world ! a few days since, I 
was cut down like a flower, and my body lies 
withering in this comfortless bed; regardless of 
God, and inattentive to duty, I passed gaily 
along, and thought no storm would ever over- 
cloud my head : — -in a moment the unexpected 
tempest arose. I sunk and was lost. Go thy 
way, and forget not thyself: remember that to- 
day thou hast life in thy power ; to-morrow, 
perhaps, thou mayst lie a breathless corpse.* 
Estimate from thence the value, poor and small 
as it is, of all things beneath the sun, — and for- 
get not that death and eternity are by an indis- 
soluble band united. 

u If thou darest to die without repentance, 
and unprepared to meet thy God and Judge, 
who can enough deplore thy misery, most 
wretched of all human beings ! everlasting 
anguish, remorse, and punishment assuredly 
await thee. — But if bearing futurity in mind, 
thou art so blest as to be enabled to live in con- 

* To-morrow, I will better live, 
Is not for man to say ; 
The morrow can no sureties give, 
The wise make sure to-day. 
B 2 



1H 

formity to the gospel of thy God and Saviour^ 
he will, according to his gracious promise, open 
the golden doors of perennial bliss for thee, 
whilst eternal delight, from the full river of 
God's inexhausted love, remains to crown thy 
faithful services. 

Immortal! be wise, remember judgment, and 
prepare to die*" — 

Lost in the deep reflection, I was awakened 
from it by the intelligence of the approach of the 
funeral of my departed friend. 




TuMCAed hi/ R. Johiua 



CHAP. II 

Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou faiovoest not to hat a day 
may bring forth, Prov. xxvii. 1. Defer not until death to be 
justified/ Eccl. xxviii. 22. 

O Death, how bitter is the remembrance of thee to a man 
that liveth at rest in his possessions ; unto the man that has no- 
thing to vex him ; and that hath prosperity in ail things : yea, 
unto him that is yet able to receive meat. Eccles. xli. 1. 

THE horses nodding their sable plumes, 
advanced with solemn pace ;* whilst the slow- 
moving wheels of the melancholy hearse, seem- 
ed to keep time with the deep-toned bell, expres- 
sive of the silent sorrow (now and then inter- 
rupted with a groan of distress) which reigned 
in the mournful coaches that followed. 

They stop : — and ah, my friend, what is all 
this labour, and all this difficulty to drag thy 
body in its last narrow dwelling from the con- 

* Solemn and slow it moves unto the tomb, 
While weighty sorrows nod on every plume. 

Dr. Watts, 



20 

nnement of the hearse, and to bear it along the 
church-yard to its gloomy mansion in the 
church ! Ah, where is thy former activity — thy 
wonted sprightliness and vigour! Thou wh 
didst tread over the threshold with such livelv 
strength, and brushed away the dew of the 
morning with stout and nimble vivacity ; have 
thy feet too forgotten to do their office ? And 
must thy fellow-mortals toil beneath the load of 
thy clayed corpse, to bear thee from the sight 
and sense of the survivors? 

O death, thou sovereign cure of human 
pride I* to what a state, impartial in thine at- 
tack, dost thou reduce as well the noblest and 
the fairest, the greatest and the best, as the 
meanest and most worthless of mankind I 
Though our friends be dear to us as a right 
eye ; lovely as the bloom of the morning ; 
powerful as the sceptred monarch of the East ; 
thou not only degradest them from the elevated 
height, but renderest obnoxious to the view ; 

* Well might a Latin poet say, 

.... Mors sola futetur 
Quantula sunt oominum corpurcula.. Jtrv. 



21 

and inaccessible to the tender embrace of the 
last lingering, faithful, unshaken adherent ; let 
corruption cease to be vain ; let rottenness, and 
dust, no longer swell in brief and borrowed ar- 
rogance.^ 

But see the afflicting sight ! Five tender chil« 
dren, each in an almost infant state, are led by 
weeping friends, in mournful procession, after 
the body of their departed father* 

In a coach behind, waiting to complete the 
melancholy view, is an infant, three days old, 
brought into the world by its half-distracted 



* The following' well-known lines may serve as a suitable 
comment and illustration of the above observations $ 

X dreamt that, buried with my fellow clay, 

Close by a common beggar's side I lay ; 

And as so mean an object shock'd my pride ; 

Thus like a corpse of consequence I cried : 
Scoundrel, be gone ! and henceforth touch me not ; 
More manners learn, and at a distance rot. 
Scoundrel then, with an haughtier tone, cried he, 
Proud lump of earth, I scorn thy words and thee ; 
Here all are equal, now thy case is mine, 
This is my rotting-place., and that is thine, 



22 

mother, before its appointed time ! Big sor- 
row and insupportable grief, hath hastened the 
throws and dire anguish of child-birth ; and be- 
hold the little orphan, insensible of its misery, 
is offered to the baptismal font, while its father 
is consigned to the dreary tomb.* 

Crouds of spectators from every part are at- 
tentive to the moving scene : on every face sits 
sympathetic sorrow ; in every eye swells the ge- 
nerous tear of compassion and concern. 

But a few days are past since a trembling 
messenger with breathless speed, urged my at- 
tendance at the sick bed of Negotio, on whose 
life, it was to be feared, the remorseless fever 
had made fatal inroads- I hastened without de-* 
lay ; and I found — but who can describe the af- 
flicting misery? Confusion, anguish, and dis- 
tress ; weeping, lamentation, and woe ; dismay 
and unutterable agony took up their residence 

* This pathetic or affecting picture* taken from a real scene 
Which the author was called upon to attend in his ministerial 
character, could not but excite the pity, and provoke the tears 
of every spectator capable of feeling' for the distressed situation 
ef the mourning" widow and her helpless orphans, 



23 

ill the dwelling of Negotio ! Surprised in the 
midst of youth, and in the ardour of earthly pur- 
suits by the awful and irresistible summons of 
death, the husband, the father, the man, lay 
racked with such thoughts as his condition 
might well be supposed to awaken.* 

Unable to bear the shock, his wife, who long 
sleepless had watched by his couch, was thrown 
on the floor in an adjacent chamber, and her 
little infants were weeping around her, the more 
to be pitied, as unconscious of their misery, and 
wondering, with artless plaints, why their be* 
loved mamma was thus sad and in tears ! Near 
relations were tender in their best offices, while 
every heart was anticipating the wretched wi- 
dow's distress. 

When I sat down by his bed, and gently un- 
drew the curtain, he looked — and shall I ever 

* For a worldly minded man, in the midst of youth, riches* 
and pleasure, to be laid on a sick bed, and in the apprehen- 
sion of his friends, as well as his own, to be near the borders 
of dissolution, is surely a very awful condition, ?*nd much to be 
dreaded, by every thoughtless candidate for sensuality and dis» 
sipation, 



24 

forget the earnest, anxious, speaking look? A 
tear dropt from his eye, he caught my hand, he 
strove to speak, but his full heart forbade ; and 
the organs of speech, deeply affected by his ma- 
lady, were unfaithful to the trust of words which 
he gave them : we sat silent for some time, and 
with difficulty at length I perceived that he said, 
or wished to say, " I fear it is too late.— Pray 
for me ; for Christ's sake, pray." 

I endeavoured, as well as the affliction of my 
mind would permit me, to suggest every ground 
of hope, every motive of consolation : he 
squeezed my hand, and sighed.^" " Little is to 
be done," he strove to say, " amidst all the dis- 
tractions of a sick bed like mine : oh consider 
my wife, consider my poor little babes 1" We 
said all which could be said ; had scarce finish* 



* Alas ! what comfort or consolation can be administered to 
a wicked man in the views of death and eternity ? Having 
lived a ilfe of gaiety a^id pleasure, he can haye no good scrip- 
tural ground to hope of meeting his latter end without fear 
and terror; death -bed repentance is at best precarious and 
Uncertain ; one was saved at the last hour, that none might de- 
spair ; and but one, that none might presume. Luke xxiri. 
43. 



25 

ed the usual prayers, and were preparing to 
mention the sacrament, when the visit was in- 
terrupted by the necessary attendance of the 
physician, whose departure the lawyer awaited, 
to settle his temporal affairs. Two more blisters 
were ordered to six he already had upon him ; 
a drowsy sleepiness, dire prognostic of death, 
seized him ; which hourly increasing, at length 
terminated in strong convulsions, and the busy, 
active, sprightly Negotio died in his thirty-third 
year.* 

Died I utterly unprepared and unprovided to 
leave this world ; far less provided to enter into 
the next. His worldly concerns totally unset- 
tled ; his eternal concerns scarce ever thought 
of! 

How much to be deplored is the fate of Nego- 
tio ! and yet, alas, how much is it to be feared 
that many thousands are hourly splitting on the 
same rock with him. 

* Few years but yield us proofs of death's ambition 
To cull his victims from the fairest fold, 
And sheath his shafts in all the pride of life. 

Dr. Young. 
c 



26 

He lived only for this world. Full of hope, 
and buoyant with life ; death was not in all his 
thoughts ; and a future state, when suggested to 
him, was considered as unworthy his present 
concern, because it was judged so distant. He 
thought not of the present span of existence, as 
of a short state of trial, an hour of weary pilgrim- 
age ; nor considered himself as an immortal be- 
ing, speedily to give an account to the dread 
judge of mankind.^ But deluded by the spe- 
cious pretence of making necessary provision 
for his family, a duty he well knew incumbent 
upon him, a duty he universally approved and 
applauded ; he had no other view than to amass 
wealth, and provide a large fortune for his chil- 
dren ; the comforts of which he promised him- 
self to partake, and had formed many chimerical 
schemes of chariots and country retirements, of 
brilliant gaiety and envied splendor, f 

* Did we esteem ourselves only as pilgrims and strangers 
here below, and as accountable beings who must ere long be 
judged according to our deeds, we should not be so much at- 
tached to things temporal, but think more seriously and fre- 
quently about those things which are eternal, according to the 
apostle Paul's exhortation. Colos. iii. 2. 

f Man appoints, but God often sees fit to disappoint, 



2r 

Amidst these designs and pursuits, it might 
with too much truth be said of Negotio, that 
God was not in all his thoughts. Indeed he re- 
guiarly attended his church in the morning of 
the sabbath-day, and as regularly gave the after- 
noon to indulgence and dissipation. But while 
at the church, how listless was he to the prayers, 
now and then yawning out an unmeaning amen ! 
for his heart was there where his treasure was 
placed.* The sermons had seldom much weight 
with him ; he sometimes observed they were 
good ; and when they touched on the subjects 
most pertaining to himself, he failed not to re- 
mark that the preacher was rather too severe.f 
Thus he went on ; and in the eagerness of tem- 
poral pursuits, and the over-earnest desire to 
grow rich, had too far engaged his fortune, and 
not been successful according to his hopes ; the 
reflection on which harassed his mind; while 
his industrious desires to obtain his ends and 
bless his family, as much harassed his body, 

* Mat. vi. 21. 

•j- « A faithful minister cannot be too severe either in de- 
scribing of sin, or dehorting from it, 9 * 



28 

and brought on that fever, the sad issue of which 
we have just been describing. 

Many and excellent were the qualifications of 
Negotio; his mind was tender and humane; 
tender affection dwelt on his heart towards the 
partner of his bed ; and few parents knew a more 
sensible concern* for the fruit of their loins. No 
man would have been more ready or more ac- 
tive in the kind offices of friendship, if the mul- 
tiplicity of his own avocations, had not rendered 
him incapable of being serviceable to others. 
He had no objection to the great truths of reve- 
lation ;f and once in a sickness, from whence he 
was wonderfully raised, determined strictly to 
comply with them ; but the world recovered its 
dominion as health again mantled on his cheek, 
and he returned to the pursuit which engaged 

* A man may be, in the general tenor of his conduct, what 
the world calls a good husband and parent, and at the same 
time an utter stranger to piety and real religion. 

t There is such a thing as believing and assenting to the 
truths of divine revelation, without a saving knowledge of, or 
a heart-felt concern about them : Reader, examine thyself. 



29 

his heart, with vigour redoubled, and activity- 
augmented, in proportion to the time and oppor- 
tunities he had lost. 

How often, in the freedom of friendship, have 
I remonstrated, but remonstrated in vain; till 
he saw me with shyness, and heard me with re- 
luctance. Striving to justify himself, he usually 
concluded, when every argument failed, that he 
was young, and not likely soon to die ;* and 
would some time hence in retirement perform 
all those duties, and prepare for that futurity 
which he could not but acknowledge it was wise 
to foresee, and necessary to prepare for.f 

Alas, my friend, haw are thy vain hopes frus- 
trated ! Cut off in the full blossom of all thy ex- 

* Prepare for death, young- man, make no delay : 
The old must go, 'tis true, but younger may. 

Rural Christian. 

f Dr. Young beautifully observes. 

Procrastination is the thief of time, 
Year after year it steals, till all are fled, 
And to the mercies of a moment, leaves 
The vast concerns of an eternal scene. 

Night Thoughts. 
c 2 



30 

pectations, in the flower of life, thy earthly de- 
signs all abortive ; thy beloved wife and dear 
children left to struggle with loneliness, sorrow, 
and difficulties ; and thy soul, thy deathless soul, 
gone to meet the great God and Saviour ! that 
God whom it never desired to serve or love ; 
that Saviour whose mercies it never implored, 
except, perhaps, at the last sad moment ; and 
whose wonderful loving-kindness had no charms 
to engage it to obedience, duty, and esteem. 

And is the fate of Negotio peculiar? Is he the 
only dreamer among the many thousands who 
walk the road of mortality ? Would to Heaven 
he were ; or would to Heaven his hapless exam- 
ple might be hung out as a beacon to warn 
others,^ and prove effectual to awaken the chil- 
dren of this world from their sleep of death, 
thundering in their ears this solemn admoni- 
tion : 

" What art thou seeking, child of eternity, 
what art thou seeking w T ith such restless assidu- 
ity I Look up and behold the heavens, where 

* Felix quern faciunt aliena pericula cautum* 



31 

dwells the judge of the world ! Formed by his 
hand, thou art placed awhile, short-lived proba- 
tioner on this earth, and when he shall give the 
tremendous summons, thou must drop thy 
earthly body, and appear an immortal soul be- 
fore his judgment seatl Eternity then awaits 
thee ; as thou hast done good or evil, an eternity 
of blessedness or misery I Wilt thou then, in the 
folly of thy heart, neglect thy God ; set up thy 
standard on earth ; and think to fix thy dwell- 
ing here ? when perhaps the breath of death 
may, the next moment, puff down all the phan- 
tastic castles raised by thy airy hopes 1 Wilt 
thou forfeit eternal joys for the transient things 
of earth ? Wilt thou not be a man ? act wisely ; 
choose soberly; keep immortality in view; and 
live every day as one who knoweth that the next 
day, perchance, he may be obliged to lay aside 
his pilgrim's weeds ;* leave the inn of this un- 
certain life ; and enter on a state that can never 
be changed, and which shall never never have an 
end?" 



* Make every day a critic on the past, 
And live each hour as if it was your last. 

Rural Christian* 



32 

Whatsoever effect these reflections may have 
on others, may they, oh my God I at least, be 
imprinted on my own heart; never may I so 
live here, as to forget that I am to live for ever 
hereafter. 



CHAP. III. 

2" heard a voice from Heaven, saying unto me, Write, Front 
henceforth blessed are the dead who die in the Lord — Even so, 
saith the Spirit ; for they rest from their labours, and their 
works do follow them. Rev. xiv. 13. 

SUCH was Negotio ; whose sad funeral 
obsequies performed, and whose little infant 
baptized, I was soon left alone to my solitary 
walk in the church-yard ; and being not much 
disposed to leave the solemn scene, I determin- 
ed to continue a while longer, and indulge the 
pleasing sobriety of melancholy meditation. 

How various, how innumerable are the shafts 
of Death ! They fly unerring from the quiver 



33 

around us; and on so thin a thread hangs human 
life, to so many accidents and disasters is human 
life subject, that one would rather marvel that 
we continue to live, than that we should forget 
one moment that we are to die !* Nothing can 
be more beautiful, nervous, and expressive, than 
the following prayer used in our burial service : 

" Man that is born of a woman hath but a 
short time to live, and is full of misery ! He 
cometh up, and is cut down like a flower ; he 
fleeth as it were a shadow ; and never continu- 
eth in one stay. 

" In the midst of life we are in death ; of 
whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O 
Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased? 

" Yet, O Lord God most holy, O Lord most 
mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour, 

* Dr. Watts, reflecting- on the innumerable channels through 
which the blood is conveyed over the whole animal system, 
breaks out in wonder and astonishment, saying", 

Strange that an harp of thousand strings, 
Should keep in tune so long. 



34 

deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal 
death. 

" Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our 
hearts i shut not thy merciful ears to our pray- 
ers; hut spare us, Lord most holy, O God most 
mighty, O holy and merciful Saviour, thou most 
worthy Judge eternal, suffer us not at our last 
hour, for any pains of death to fall from thee." 

Were we truly influenced by the doctrine and 
piety of this incomparable prayer, there is no 
doubt but we should make a better estimate of 
life and death than is usually done ; we should 
set a less value on the one, and meet the other 
with more courage and resignation. 

For what is man, and what is his life ? — 
" Man that is born of a woman hath but a short 
time to live," — short, indeed, suppose it to ex- 
tend to the utmost length of human existence, 
even to fourscore years. But alas ! too com- 
monly, extent of life is but extent of sorrow ; 
the time, though short, is yet full of misery.^" 

* Job siv. 1 5 % 



35 

The natural and acquired evils, the evils una- 
voidable, and the evils brought on ourselves by 
our own folly, vice, and imprudence are many., 
and great. 

Our best happiness on earth is short, preca- 
rious, and uncertain ; " he cometh up, and is 
cut down like a flower ;" to-day we flourish in all 
the external accommodations of life, to-morrow 
the taste can no more relish its delicacies, nor 
the ear be delighted with the melody of the viol; 
no more the tongue can chant with pleasing har- 
mony ; the eyes open no more on sublunary 
scenes, while the useless lids are (it may be) 
closed by the trembling hand of our weeping 
friends. 

As the shadow that departeth, that fleeth 
away, and its place is known no more^ so we va- 
nish from the earth, and our memory is sodn 
buried in total oblivion. To us little regard is 
paid any longer : still our associates, with their 
usual gaiety and ardour, pursue their several 
designs ; still, as before, the business of life 
goes briskly on ; the sun shines as brightly ; the 



36 

earth blooms as gaily ;* the forests echo as 
sweetly with the music of the winged choris- 
ters ; and all things wear their accustomed form: 
while our neglected clay is mouldering in dust, 
and trodden over by many a thoughtless, per- 
haps many a friendly foot.f 

Many a friendly foot ! — yes, even now, while 
I wander in the silence of the night, amidst these 
lonely receptacles of the dead, how many graves 
are around me, which contain the precious re- 
lics of neighbours and fellow-creatures, by my- 
self consigned to their last earthly home !j — 

* The author here seems to have in view the sentiments of 
Mr. Pope, in a letter to Mr. Steele, where he thus expresses 
himself: " The morning after my exit the sun will rise as bright 
■* as ever ; the flowers smell as sweet, the plants spring 1 as 
" green, and the world will proceed in its old course." 



■ What is this world ? 



What but a spacious burial-field unwall'd, 
The very turf on which we tread once liv'd. 

Blair's Grave. 

\ The grave, that home of man, 

Where dwells the multitude. 

Night Thoughts. 



37 

t 

wretched, wretched home ! were not the soul se- 
cure of immortality; were not the body lodged 
in the grave, as a faithful deposit, hereafter to 
be used to life and glory,* by the Almighty 
Redeemer's trump.f That reflection sooths 
all the sorrow, and extracts all the poison from 
the dart of death I — What is that I read on yon- 
der tomb — on which the passing moon reflects 
her full light, as she walks majestic through the 
skies, and makes her silver way through the dark 
and mantling clouds? — u Oh death, where is 
thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory? 
The sting of death is sin, and the strength of 
sin is the law; — but, thanks be to God, who 
giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus 
Christ.J" — These were the words, which last 
hung on the lips, and at his desire are engraven 
on the tomb of Osiander, who died full of faith ; 
a man whose death might well inspire the wish — 
" Let me die the death of the righteous, and let 
my latter end be like his 1"|| 

* Certum est in cineres corpus mortale reverti, 
Sed taraen aeternus non erit ille sopor. 

Manx. 

t 1 Cor. xv. 52. |. 1 Cor. xv. 55-S-7. \\ Numb, xxiii. 10. 



38 

O Negotio ! how unlike to thee was Osi- 
ander : how unlike in life, how unlike in 
death- — though the same temporal concern, the 
same worldly occupations were common to 
either* trs 



2 



Happy in parents, who well knew the influence 
and importance of religious principles, Osiander 
was early initiated and perfectly instructed in 
the school of piety : abundantly did he verify 
the truth of the wise man's observation ; for con- 
ducted, when young, into the happy path of 
truth, he never departed from it%* His youth 
was amiably distinguished by the most conscien- 
tious and tender regard to his parents > a pre- 
sage of his future felicity ; and his whole de- 
meanor was tempered with the most winning 
modesty and engaging respect. 

Rare felicity in Osiander ; he obtained a 
partner, formed with every qualification suita* 
ble to his own: it might well be said of them, so 



* Train un a child in the way he should go, and when he is 
old he will not depart from it Pjrov. xxii. 6, 



39 

similar were their tempers, their desires, their 
pursuits, so much. 

Like objects pleas'd them, and like objects pain'd, 
'Twas but one soul that in two bodies reign'd. 

No wonder then Osiander was a pattern, as of 
filial, so of conjugal affection. Peace and sere- 
nity ever welcomed him to his house, and true 
satisfaction departed not from his happy dwell- 
ing. Hence he found no cause to search abroad 
for the felicity which multitudes cannot find at 
home ; nor dreamed of the tavern and the club, 
the places of merriment and diversion, to drown 
the cares he never knew, or to give the bliss he 
continually enjoyed,* 

Happy in so choice a companion, he was dili- 
gent to discharge, in the exactest degree, the 
parental duty towards the dear pledges of his 
love, wherewith their faithful embraces were 
blest. And hence, from their earliest youth, he 

* An engaging'picture of matrimonial happiness. Would to 
God there were more pleasing copies of it to be met with in 
the present day ; but, alas ! how few is the number, and how 
seldom are they found ! 



40 

took care to inspire them with every sentiment 
of true religion, and to bring them up in the 
faith and fear of that Almighty Father, a regard 
to whom, deeply rooted in the minds of children, 
is the most undoubted security of their regard 
to earthly parents.* 

As the connections of Osiander necessarily 
rendered his family large, he was conscienci- 
ously exact in the discharge of his duty to his 
domestics and servants. " Every man, 5 ' he was 
wont to say, " should esteem himself as a priest 
in his own family ; and be therefore careful to 
instruct his dependants, as those of whom he 
must one day give a solemn account." And, 
" One reason," he would often say, " why men 
are generally so negligent of this important du- 
ty, is the sad example they set themselves, — an 
example which renders all precept ineffectual."f 
Hence he was diligent to maintain that prime 
pillar of domestic authority : he spoke by his life 

* Children who fear not God* seldom regard man ! this is a 
melancholy truth, and too oilen verified. 

f Be not a man of words, but deeds, 
Examples (precepts) far exceeds, 



41 

as well as his words ; and never proposed a duty 
to his family which they did not see him prac- 
tise himself.^ 

Family prayer was never omitted in his house. 
The sabbath-day was never mispent in trifling, 
visiting, and folly; much less in drunkenness 
and debauchery. Attended by as many of his 
family as was convenient, he himself led the 
way to his church, both morning and afternoon ; 
while the evening of that blessed day was ever 
spent in catechising and instructing the younger, 
and in reading some useful discourse to the more 
advanced part of his household-! — Never ab- 
staining from the hallowed table of the Lord, be 
was earnest always in pressing that important 
duty: and few who lived with him were long 
strangers to that heavenly banquet. 

* Setting a g-ood example is the best way to recommend 
and enforce good precepts, 

t The method of spending the sabbath-day, cannot be too 

much inculcated or enforced on every master and mistress of 

a family; the neglect of it has been the ruin (it is greatly to 

be Feared) of thousands of children, apprentices and servants. 

D 2 



42 

Thus exemplary at home, he was tvo less 
esteemed abroad : his punctuality, honesty, and 
worth, were universally commended; and though 
some of freer principles would sometimes be apt 
to sneer at his preciseness (as they termed it) 
yet no man maintained a more universal credit, 
pursued his temporal business with more be- 
coming alacrity, or, by the blessing of God, 
flourished more in all desirable success.* 

It pleased the sovereign Disposer of all things 
to give him a long foresight of his approaching 
dissolution, by means of a lingering and con- 
sumptive illness. 

Shall I ever forget with what delight I heard 
him declare his high hopes, when, coming in by 
accident, I found him, with his beloved wife by 
his side ; pale and emaciated, he sat in the chair 
of sickness, his hand tenderly clasping hers, and 
his eyes tenderly fixed upon her: — while she, 



* Well might the Psalmist say, the blessing of the Lord is 
m the house of the righteous ; blessed is every one that feareth 
the Lord, that walketh in his ways ; happy shalt thou be, and 
it shall be well with thee. Psalm cxxviii. 1, 2. 



43 

with soft affection, strove to conceal her heart- 
felt distress, and the tear, unpermitted to come 
forth, stood trembling in her eye. " I was en- 
deavouring, dear sir," said he, " to recon- 
cile my life's loved companion to the stroke 
which shortly must separate us — separate for a 
while — separate, blessed be the Lord of life, 
only to meet that we may never more part. — - 
But, alas, so frail is human nature, so weak is 
human faith, so attached are we to this poor 
crazy prison, that we cannot, we cannot be tri- 
umphant, we sink and grovel upon the earth 
even to the last."*" 

Affection like yours, said I, so long tried, and 
so tender, cannot be supposed to part without 

* Dr. Watts very j ustly sings 

Our dearest joys and nearest friends, 

The partners of our blood, 
How they divide our vvav'ring minds, 

And leave but half for God. 

Oh ! may we scorn these clothes of flesh, 

These fetters and this load ; 
And long- for ev'ning to undress, 

That we may rest with God. 

Hymn Ixi. B. % 



44 

pangs ; nor should we think ourselves the worse 
Christians, because we feel the most sensibly as 
men. 

" Oh no," said he, " I have never thought 
the finest feelings of humanity inconsistent with 
the most elevated degree of Christian virtue — 
but, methinks, when a pair have lived (as thanks 
be to God) my dearest wife and myself have 
constantly endeavoured to do — with a perpetual 
prospect to a future scene, and an earnest, 
though very imperfect labour, to walk worthy 
our high calling and hope — it should be matter 
of the noblest joy when the consummation of 
all our labours is at hand, when we are about to 
drop the veil of flesh, and to enter on the frui- 
tion of everlasting peace : surely this should dry 
up all our tears, and cause us to rejoice on be- 
half of the friend who is about — not to die, but 
to live; not to lose life, but to enjoy it."^ — For 
myself, I have no more doubt of immortality, 

* We can never think too much upon this solemn and inter- 
esting' truth : 

When this our short and fleeting life is o'er, 
We die to live ; a?>d live— to die no more. 



45 

nor (let me speak with due humiliation) of my 
own felicity with God, through Jesus Christ, 
than I have of my present existence. All na- 
ture, and the universal voice of the wise in every 
age proclaim the animating doctrine: but the 
Christian religion hath displayed it in such full 
light, so dispelled every cloud, so removed 
every scruple, that it would be the greatest in- 
dignity to the blessed author of it, either to 
doubt a future or eternal existence, or to doubt 
an eternal and happy one through faith in Jesus 
Christ.* Infidelity appears to me of all sins 
the most monstrous, after those various decla- 
rations which God hath made to support and 
confirm our faith. "f 

We were charmed at the divine warmth with 
which he uttered these words; his wife burst 

* It is the absolute declaration of God himself, «H? that be- 
lieveth shall be saved," and Christ has promised, as he iiveth, 
they (who truly believe in him) shall live also. 

t Unbelief robs the Christian too often of his spiritual com- 
fort ; but let him who professes to believe in Christ, take heed 
respecting the nature, ground, and fruits of his faith, that they 
are of the right kind, according to the rule of God's unerring 
word. 



46 

into a flood of tears ; tears of mingled joy and 
sadness, who could refrain? We sat silent: — 
he at length went on. 

" Yet let me not be thought presumptuous : 
I know the utter abhorrence of God to the least 
spark of self-dependance ; I know the absolute 
contrariety of pride to the true interest of a 
fallen creature : I am nothing; I have nothing: 
I can do nothing : to the glory of his free grace 
be all I have ever done, be all I ever hope for !* 
But there is such an exhaustless fund of unex- 
ampled mercy and love in the great Saviour of 
mankind, so wonderful are his doings, so pass- 
ing all comprehension his tender regards for the 
children of men, that I dare not dispute his rich 
offers ; that I dare not hesitate in the embracing 
his full promises. 

" Oh, sir, I can say with the utmost sincerity, 
that the reflection on his past mercies is my sole 
and unspeakable comfort ; and in his love I al- 
ready taste something of the bliss I expect. In- 
fluenced by that love, and by a sincere (though 

* This will ever be the language of a true Christian, though 
not the sentiments of every nominal one. 



47 

almost weak faith in him, I have laboured dili- 
gently to act in conformity to his will: and 
though conscious of a thousand and ten thou- 
sand infirmities, though in my best services ut- 
terly unprofitable, though in all, less than the 
least of his mercies, yet I have an unshaken 
confidence in his all-sufficient merits, and fully 
relying upon them, I commit my soul to him, 
with all the satisfaction and serenity of calm and 
well-grounded hope.* — He is a rock that can 
never fail us : the cross of Christ promiseth the 
sinner every thing which repentance can pre- 
sume to ask."f 

Much more passed between us, some things 
far too tender to be committed to paper ; and it 

* Oh ! the comforts and consolations of an expiring' believer 
in Jesus Christ, how solid, unspeakable, and encouraging" ! well 
might the psalmist David say, " the end of that man is peace.'* 
Psalm xxxvii. ST. 

f Toueh'd by the cross we live, or more than die ; 
That touch, with charm celestial, heals the soul 
Diseas'd, drives pain from guilt, lights life in death, 
Turns earth to heaven, to heavenly thrones transforms 
The ghastly ruins of the mould'ringt- mb. 

Night Thoughts, 



48 

will not be any wonder to the serious reader to 
be told, that a sickness of some weeks was borne 
by a man of such faith, with all the cheerful re- 
signation and consummate patience which ar. 
peculiar to tne true Christian.* Nothing would 
be more instructive, perhaps, than many of the 
discourses which he held with his friends, dur- 
ing the scene of trial. A few hours before he 
died, he took a solemn leave of his wife and 
children, to whom he had delivered at large his 
dying advice — and perfectly sensible of his ap- 
proaching dissolution; some minutes before he 
expired he was heard to say, " O death, where 
is thy sting ! O grave, where is thy victory ! the 
sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is 
the law,— but thanks be to God who giveth us 
the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 
And having said this, he fell asleep, with a com- 
posure perfectly lovely, with a peace infinitely 
desirable. 

* It may well be said, religion has pleasures which none but 
the real Christian can enjoy ; consolations which none but the 
real Christian can partake of, and a crown of glory promised 
to its followers after death, which none but the real Christian 
can have a title to, or wear. 2 Tim. iv. 8. 



CHAP. IV. 

Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing ? and one of tliem shall 
not fall to the ground without your Father. But the 'very hairs 
of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not, therefore, ye are 
of more value than many sparrows. Mat. x, 29, he. 

Leave thy fatherless children, I ~vi 11 preserve them alive, and let 
thy widows trust in Me. Jer. xlix. 11. 

FEW" passions are more strongly implanted 
in the human mind, than the love of our off- 
spring; to be devoid of which, degrades the hu- 
man far beneath the irrational creature ; through 
every species of which, the wonderful influence 
of parental affection is discernible. . The wis- 
dom of the great Creator is immediately obvi- 
ous in this gracious provision for the helpless 
young ; and it is certain that this powerful re- 
gard in the human species, may be rendered 
productive of the most excellent effects. 

Too commonly, indeed, it is grossly abused ; 
and the honourable claim of parental regard is 
made the pretence for an unworthy and mean 

E 



50 

attachment to the pursuits of the world, and the 
love of this life. Many men cheat themselves 
under this specious delusion ; and while they 
conceive that the spring of their actions, and the 
cause of their singular attention to earthly de- 
sires, is the laudable purpose of providing for 
their families ;* they are, the mean while, but 
following the bent of their inclinations, and 
treading in a track which they would continue 
to tread, were they not influenced at all by the 
motive which they fancy engages them in it. 
Frequent experience hath manifested this ; but 
it w T as never seen more evidently, perhaps, than 
in the case of Avaro ; who lived only for his 
children, as he constantly avowed, and on that 
account denied himself every reasonable gratifi- 
cation ; when, as if it were to falsify those pre- 
tences, as well as to awaken him, if possible, to 
a more rational conduct, the Sovereign of hea- 
ven deprived him of his children in a short com- 
pass of time; and lo, he remains the same gro- 

* A prudent desire and endeavour to make a suitable pro- 
vision for our families, are laudable and praise-worthy ; but an 
over-anxious pursuit after temporal things is hurtful and unbe- 
coming 1 , particularly respecting" those who profess to be Chris- 
tians, 



51 

veiling earth-worm, though he hath none to 
share that inheritance, which he purchases at 
the price of his soul! 

If any truth be fully revealed in the sacred 
oracles, if any hath the sanction of the soundest 
reason, it is the belief of a wise, good, and su- 
perintending Providence, of an universal Father, 
who tenderly watcheth over, and graciously 
careth for the concerns of those beings whom 
himself hath created, and placed in their seve- 
ral stations upon earth ;* a truth of an aspect the 
most benign, and of an influence the most im- 
portant to all the affairs of men: to forget and 
disregard which, leads to all the folly of self- 
seeking, all the madness of self-dependance, all 
the bitter anxiety of self-corroding care : to re- 
member, and live under the constant persuasion 
of which, induces all the sweetness of a serene 
conscience, all the fortitude of a resigned soul, 
all the comfort of an unshaken hope.f 

* Matt. vi. 26, 

f Well might our Saviour upbraid his disciples with unbe- 
lief of his providential care 5 by saying 1 , « If God so clothe the 
grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into 



52 

And to this, were we to judge by the rules of 
right reason, or religion, that parental affection 
which is so universal and amiable, must natu- 
rally bend every parent ; whom, if no other con- 
sideration were sufficient to persuade to the 
practice of religion, and to a dependance upon 
the Deity, the reflection of its infinite moment 
to their offspring, and of the unspeakable value 
of the divine favour, should powerfully incline 
thereto. For there is no patrimony like the di- 
vine protection, and no friendship so stable as 
the friendship of heaven. The former can never 
be exhausted, the latter will never fail or forsake 
us : no change of circumstances will change its 
fidelity ; nay, much unlike the friendship of the 
world,* in the black day of adversity it will 
smile with the most sweetness and affection. 



the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little 
faith! 55 Mat. vi. 30. 

* Dr. Young expresses a similar opinion of the world's 
friendship, in the following lines : 

Tir 5 d nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep ! 

He, like the world, his ready visit pays 

Where fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes. 

Night Thoughts. 



£3 

Our earthly scenes in behalf of our children, 
may prove unsuccessful, and be quickly blasted 
by the finger of disappointment; our labours 
may end in vexation, and all our attempts be in- 
sufficient to secure the fortune we may wish; or 
should we secure it, the patrimony we have 
gained, at the expense of so much care and 
anxiety (nay, perhaps at the high price even of 
felicity eternal) may be embezzled by the faith- 
less guardian ; devoured by the litigious lawyer; 
or foolishly squandered away by the spendthrift 
heir ; whom our industry has capacitated to sink 
into the foul sewers of idleness, vice, and sloth ;* 
and deprived at once of the comforts of this life, 
and the hopes of a better, by supplying him with 
the means and opportunity to be iniquitous ; 
when perhaps without them he had been led to 

* Idleness, vice, and sloth, have been the ruin of thousands; 
therefore carefully to be avoided ; particularly by young per- 
sons of both sexes : for an idle man is the devil's play -fellow ; 
slothful ness bringeth a man to rags ; while 

Vice its own punishment will ever prove, 
But virtue leads to blissful realms above. 

Rural Christian, 
e 2 



54 

careful industry, to sobriety, and all the blessed 
fruits of a rational and prudent demeanour. 

Let it not be concluded from hence that we 
would condemn that proper care for the subsist- 
ence of a family, which all nations have judged 
necessary and becoming. We mean only to de- 
cry that absurd, but too common practice, of 
living merely to lay up wealth for those who 
shall survive us ; without taking care to secure 
the favour of Providence, without looking at all 
to the great superintendant of human affairs, 
who laughs, with just contempt, at the spider- 
webs which men of this character so industri- 
ously weave. Without God in their lives, with- 
out hope in their death, they are unable calmly 
to lay their dying heads on their pillows,* or to 
commend, with humble, but confident faith, 
their weeping widows and orphans to the hea- 
venly Husband, and the everlasting Father. 



* The wicked, in the views of dissolution, may hope for 
mercy at the bands of their offended Maker, but not on scrip- 
tural grounds, for the word of God assures us, without repent- 
ance there is no salvation. Luke xiii. 3. 



53 

Of these poor Negotio never thought, and 
therefore could derive no comfort to himself, 
could administer no comfort to his wife or his 
children, from the solid expectation of the fa- 
therly care of Omnipotence.^ This rendered 
his death dreadful : as the contrary view sooth- 
ed every sorrow, and cheered every gloom be- 
fore the face of the departing Osiander. He 
beheld his wife and his children with an eye of 
gladness, as the peculiar care of the Father of 
the fatherless, and the Husband of the widow : 
and to that care he consigned them with a cheer- 
ful hope and a peaceful acquiescence.^ Nego- 
tio saw his family with an eye of distraction, as 

* The offspring of wicked parents, if they continue in the 
roads of impiety and vice, may justly expect according- to the 
express declaration of Jehovah, that the curse due to their pa- 
rents will descend on them, for he has said, " he will visit the 
iniquities of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and 
fourth generation of them that hate him and keep not his com- 
mandments." Exod. xx. 5. 

f The real Christian, trusting in God as his heavenly father, 
friend, and portion, may safely leave all he has in his hands, 
knowing he will safely keep that which is committed to him 
against that day, when he comes to judge the world by his Son 
Christ Jesus. 2 Tem. L 12. 



56 

the prey of poverty, and the sport of an injurious 
world. 

Unaccustomed to estimate worth by any other 
standard than that of earthly acquisitions, he 
considered them as unavoidably miserable : and 
leaving them unprovided with what the w T orld 
calls good, he left them, as it seemed to him, 
destitute ; and doomed to all the contempt of 
penury, and all the painful pity of distress. — 
Such was the issue of his anxious solicitude for 
temporal things. Oh, happy had it been for 
thee, Negotio, happy for thy family, if some 
portion of thy anxiety had been allotted to eter- 
nal concerns ! then hadst thou died in the pleas- 
ing reflection, that, not void of attention to thy 
great business on earth, thou wast going thyself 
to the kingdom of a Father, who watcheth with 
peculiar attention over the orphan and the wi- 
dow, especially when consigned by the faithful 
parent to his secure protection : and who is 
equally able to save by many as by few; to bless 
where there is little, as where there is much; to 
bless with the most substantial blessings — com- 
petency, content, and a good conscience : which 
bestow those consolations, solid, secure and im- 



57 

moveable, that are denied frequently, or sought 
for in vain, by the distinguished favourites of 
exorbitant wealth or exalted power. 

Conscious hereof, Osiander, during his last 
sickness, was never deficient in pouring this 
healing balm into the bleeding heart of his life's 
loved companion, and softer friend. 

" Widowhood,"^" he was often wont to say to 
her, " is doubtless a state of the deepest distress : 
left to weather out all the storms and tempests 
of a calamitous world, a poor dejected woman 
then most wants the tender support of the hus- 
band, whose loss those very wants more feel- 
ingly teach her. Not only every source of usual 
satisfaction is dried up ; not only every allowa- 
ble and life-cheering comfort is cut off; but the 
flood-gates are open to a tide of new troubles, 
unknown, unthought of before : which the me- 
mory of past felicities mournfully enhanceth; 
the retrospect of happiness once enjoyed, but 

* See the fine speech of St. Chrisostom's mother, in the 
Christian's Magazine, vol. i. p. 54. Published for Newberry^ 
in St, Paul's Church-yard, 



58 

now lost, adding double weight to the woe 
which springs up unwelcome in its place. 

" Even when the affection hath not been of the 
most tender sort, the loss of a husband is se- 
verely felt ; but where it hath been just and sin- 
cere, where long-tried fidelity hath much ap- 
proved one to the other, there, as the parting 
becomes more afflictive, so the loss is more sen- 
sibly felt. Widowhood is then an iron furnace 
indeed. — But to catch the allusion, as the Sort 
of God was seen in the furnace with the three 
faithful Israelites, preserving them unhurt from 
the rage of the flames ;* so will he be present, 
with peculiar protection, and shield with his fa- 
therly providence, the widow and her orphans. 
— ' Leave thy fatherless children, 5 saith this 
kind God, 4 I will preserve them alive, and let 
thy widows trust in me.'f 

" This passage, I will freely confess to you, 
hath at all times given the greatest comfort to 
my mind, and at the same time encouraged me 
to a cheerful discharge of my duty, and to per- 

* Dan. iii. 25. Jer. xlix. 11. 



59 

feet dependance on God ; conscious, that if I 
could by any means secure the fatherly care of 
Omnipotence for you, and my dear children, I 
need not be anxious for aught besides : I have 
endeavoured to keep this point in view ; and I 
can now commend you to that care, with the 
most joyful and heart-felt delight. For the Lord 
will never leave you nor forsake you :-^-he is 
emphatically styled, * the Father of the father- 
less, and the Husband of the widow. '* A re- 
flection which surely must make every tender 
parent, every affectionate husband solicitously 
careful to obtain God's blessing, if they really 
love their children ; if they have a real regard 
for their wives and offspring; for the Lord God 
hath shewn, all through his blessed word, how 
near and dear to him are the interests of the wi- 
dow and the orphan : he hath given peculiar 
laws, with much tenderness, respecting them : 
he hath made it one of the characteristic parts 
of true and undefiled religion, to visit the father* 
less and widows in their affliction ;f and as an 
emblem of his ever full and flowing mercy to- 
wards them, he sent his prophet to one of them 

* Psal. lxviii. 5. t James I 27. 



60 

in the day of her distress, and enriched her with 
a continual supply, while want and famine were 
reigning around : giving at once a proof and a 
significant token of his fatherly providence, and 
increasing mercies to the widow who trusteth in 
him.* 

" For, my dear love, permit me to say, though 
I have scarce any need to say it to you, that 
these rich promises to widows are not given in- 
discriminately and under ro conditions : it may 
be very possible to languish in all the wretched- 
ness of a widowed state, and yet to enjoy none 
of the distinguished care of heaven. St. Paul 
speaks of those who are widows indeed; which 
plainly implies that some in a state of widow- 
hood may be far from the Divine notice. A 
widow indeed, according to him, ' is one who 
trusteth in God, and continueth in supplications 
and prayer night and dav;' one who is truly sen- 
sible of the afflictive hand of Providence upon 
her ; who endeavours to receive with meekness, 
and to improve in resignation by the chastising 
stroke ; who fixeth her soul's dependance upon 

* 2 King's iv. 6. 



61 

the high and gracious providence of her God, 
and laboureth, with all the sincerity of faith, and 
fervour of prayer, to cast herself and all her con- 
cerns upon him, as knowing he careth for hen 

And as thus trusting in God and continuing 
in prayer, the widow should be particularly 
grave, serious, and sober in all her behaviour, 
dress, and deportment : she should not forget 
that God hath been pleased to cut off, if I may 
so say, the ornament of her head, and the pride 
of her life ; and therefore requireth a decent so- 
lemnity in ail her carriage. If the loss happens 
to a woman in earlier life, she hath need of more 
peculiar watchfulness against all the attacks of 
carnal enemies ; and should be very cautious 
not to give the least room for that reproach, ei- 
ther of wantonness or calumny, which some are 
so apt to impute to widowhood in general.* 

u And should she, my dear, be left in your 
care, with a family around her, oh how much 
anxiety attends that necessary, that important 

* Would to God there were no widows in our da}', but such 
who answered the above description. 
F 



62 



charge ; that most tender duty which she oweth 
to them — I cannot, indeed, I cannot speak of 
this heavy burden : my heart is too full ; and I 
have perfect satisfaction in your motherly love 
to my dear children. — But do not sink under the 
burden, for God is with you : he will bless your 
endeavours; he will support you in every difli- 
culty. — 4 Leave thy fatherless children to me, I 
will preserve them alive, ** said he : alive,— 
that is, through grace, alive to the only valuable, 
the divine life; alive to himself! Oh! sweet 
and comfortable promise, let it always be your 
support, and rest perfectly confident, that while 
you exert your best, though feeble efforts, for 
your dear children, the father of the fatherless 
will more than second you: trust in him: con- 
tinue in prayer to him for them and for your- 
self: and you will have a husband infinitely pre- 
ferable to this poor perishing mortal who is 
about to leave you — and they, my beloved 
pretty orphans — have a father. f— 

" Oh! thou gracious Father, preserve, protect, 
defend, both her and them- — and when my weep- 

* Jer. xiix. 11. f Psal xxvii. 10- 



: 



63 



ing eyes shall be closed in death ; when my sup- 
plicating tongue shall be silent in dust ; when 
my solicitous heart shall cease to throb for them ! 
Oh ! be thou their never-f ailing, their heavenly 
husband, father, friend !— their God and portion 
in this life and in that which is to come. — ■ 
Oh, may we meet to part no more — meet to 
praise and adore thy exceeding loving-kindness, 
through endless ages in glory !"# 

Thus spoke Osiander: and happy that hus- 
band who thus, like him, can in the views of 
death, pour the balm of divine consolation into 
the heart of his afflicted and lamenting partner. 



* Thrice happy Christians ! who, when time is o'er, 
Shall meet in realms of bliss, to part no more. 

G. W. 



CHAP. V. 

Still frowns grim Death? Guilt points the tyrant's spear. 
And whence all human guilt ?— From Death forgot ! 

Young. 

WERE it possible to avoid the stroke, or 
to escape the victorious arms of death, they 
would have something to plead for their conduct, 
who shun with all their power, the solemn re- 
flection ; who make it the whole business of 
their lives to dissipate the important thought of 
that, which they must sooner or later meet with, 
and to which they are inevitably doomed.* But 
as no human power can arrest even for one mo- 
ment, the fatal dart ;t as every individual must 
pass through this black and lamentable flood ; 

* For it is appointed unto all men once to die. Heb. ix.2? 

•f When death receives the dire command 3 
None can elude or stay his hand ; 
For when his dread commission's seal'd. 
The youngest, healthiest, all must yield. 

Rural Christian. 




TubfohiJ h, R. Joh *uon . 



65 

surely wisdom dictates a serious and frequent 
attention to so interesting a concern, and reason 
advises the most diligent survey of this dreadful 
evil ; that we may learn to encounter it with holy 
courage, or at least to submit to it without reluc- 
tance. Death, viewed with an hasty and trem- 
bling eye, appears in formidable terror, as the 
cruel blaster of all human hopes and joys ; but 
death viewed with the eye of faith, and contem- 
plated with the coolness of rational deliberation, 
loses much of its terror, and is approached with 
no small degree of complacency and peace.* 

You tremble at the fear of death ; come draw 
near, and let us see what that is, which thus 
alarms your quickest apprehensions. See in the 
most fearful garb, death is only the ransomer of 
frail mortals from the prison of a sinful, painful, 
and corrupted frame; their deliverer from a 

* Death and his image rising 1 in the brain, 
Bear faint resemblance, never are alike ; 
Fear shakes the pencil, fancy sours excess, 
Dark ignorance is lavish of her shades, 
And these, the formidable picture draw. 

Night Thoughts. 
F 2 



^66 

transitory, and vexatious world ;* their intro* 
ducer to an eternal and — oh that we could al- 
ways add — a blessed state ! — but there, there 
alas, is the dread. It is this which clothes death 
in his terrors, and gives all its sharpness to his 
sting. Could we be assured, had we a scriptu- 
ral and well-grounded presumption, that the de- 
parting soul should enter into a state of felicity, 
and be received into the bosom of its Saviour 
and its God; we should then universally lay 
down the load of mortality, not only without re- 
gret, but even with triumph.f 

When then comes it to pass ?— let us no longer 
lay the blame on death, for it is fairly exculpa- 



Death ends our woe 



And puts a period to the ills of life. 

Dr. Young. 

f To meet death without cause to fear it, is the privilege 
only of a true believer in Jesus ; well therefore, does an emi- 
nent writer say, 

Believe, and look with triumph in the tomb. 

Dr. Young. 



67 

ted— whence comes it to pass, thaj; we dare td 
live, without treasuring up " this rational and 
well-grounded presumption," which the Chris- 
tian religion so copiously supplies, and which we 
are called upon to treasure up by every motive 
of interest, of common sense, and of duty ? if 
we neglect this, let us not pretend to quarrel 
with our fate, and to repine at the fearfulness of 
death ; we ourselves give all his fearfulness to 
him, and from ourselves alone proceeds the 
cause of our bitterest disquietude* For God 
hath plainly declared to us the irreversible con- 
dition of our nature. Our death is no less cer- 
tain than our existence.^ He hath graciously 
provided a sovereign and infallible antidote 
against the fear of death, in the victorious re- 
surrection of his dear Son.f He hath informed 
us, that our bodies must return to dust ; that all 
our possessions must be left behind ; and that a 

* Fix'd is the term to all the race on earth, 
And such the hard condition of our birth ; 
No force can death resist, no flight can save, 
All fall alike, the fearful and the brave. 

Pope. 

f 1 Cor. xv. 20. 



68 

state everlasting and unalterable awaits us — a 
state of endless bliss with him, or of misery 
with condemned spirits.^ 

If then, my soul, deaf to his informations, and 
regardless of his mercies, thou shalt forget the 
condition of thy nature; pride thyself in the 
beauties of thy present body ; boast thyself in 
the possessions of thy present state ; neglect to 
secure an interest in the Saviour, by faith un- 
feigned, and obedience unreserved — thine, and 
thine eternally will be the just condemnation : 
nor canst thou wonder, that the stroke of death, 
in this view, is horrible to thy apprehension ; for 
it will separate thee from all thou Jioldest dear, 
and convey thee to a region, dolorous and un- 
welcome, where thou hast not treasure, and 
canst not have either hope or love. But re- 
member, in this case, death deserves no blame ; 
for it is not death which is terrible in itself; it 
is man, foolish man, who renders it so, by his 
inexcusable neglect, f 

* Mat. xxv. 46. 

f Death will be to the real Christian, the end of all his 
earthly troubles, and the keg-inning" of his heavenly joys, while 



69 

It is from hence arises the fear of death ; from 
estimating too highly the things of this life, and 
from forgetting the mutable condition annexed 
to every mortal blessing* Hence sprung all the 
mistakes, and all the miseries of the young, the 
lovely Misella; and all the piercing pangs, 
which tore her wretched parents' hearts. 

Misella was blest, by the great giver of all 
good gifts, with a frame peculiarly elegant and 
pleasing. Softness and sweetness dwelt in her 
countenance ; the down of the swan was rivalled 
by her skin ; her shape was faultless, her limbs 
were finished with the most beautiful symmetry, 
and her voice was musical as the harmony of the 
lute. She was taught from the cradle to value 
this fine person ; and her fond and overweening 
parents fed the soothing vanity with every food 
which their dotage could supply.* 

to the wicked and impenitent, it will prove the end of all their 
hopes, and the beginning of their eternal desperation. 

* The very means and the best method they could have 
taken, or the devil himself could have devised, to make their 
child a curse to them, and bring down their gray hairs with 
sorrow to the grave. 



70 

Her education was perfectly polite, adapted to 
set off the graces of her frame, little calculated 
to expand or improve the more valuable beau- 
ties of her mind. Her taste for dress was re- 
markably elegant, her manner of dancing parti- 
cularly genteel: she excelled much at cards, 
and few were happier in devising schemes, and 
engaging parties of pleasure. As her voice was 
charming in itself, so was it improved by art, and 
aided by the soft touches of the guitar, which 
she handled with inimitable grace ; preferring 
it to all other instruments, as the attitude of 
playing upon it, is most advantageous for the 
display of a fair lady's gentility. 

She very early gave her parents convincing- 
proof of the mistake they had made in her edu- 
cation, and of their unhappiness in neglecting to 
inculcate the principles of religious duty and 
conscientious virtue. For in her seventeenth 
year, she married a young officer, of inferior 
rank, and no fortune, with the entire disappro- 
bation of her parents ; nay, and in direct contra- 
diction to their commands. The gaiety of his 
dress, and the charms of his person, captivated 
her heart; and unaccustomed to reason and 



think, she broke through every obligation to 
gratify her romantic passion.^ 

The blind and excessive fondness of her pa- 
rents soon induced them to pass over this 
breach of duty, and to welcome their darling 
daughter and her husband to their affectionate 
arms. Accustomed from her cradle to a life of 
dissipation and pleasure, now that she was free 
from all parental restraint, she indulged the mad 
propensity with still greater ardour.f From one 
public place to another, during the summer, she 
led her passive husband ; during the winter they 
lived in all the fatiguing gaiety of town diver- 
sions, 

* Young women can never be too cautious respecting the 
men they make choice of, as partners for life, for their future 
happiness depends on it. What a melancholy reflection it is, 
that numbers in the present day, marry in haste, and repent 
at leisure, when it is too late. 

f The education of children is truly an important task, and 
cannot be too carefully attended to by parents in general ; for 
it is an observation confirmed by experience : 

Children like tender osiers take the bow* 
And as they first are fashion'd always grow 



72 

A child was the issue of their marriage ; but 
as the daughter had been before, so now the 
mother was swallowed up in the woman of plea- 
sure : she sent the little infant to her parents, 
regardless of its welfare, if she could but pursue 
her beloved gratifications. — The case was the 
same with a second produce of their conjugal 
endearments. She looked upon child-bearing 
as a severe tax paid by the fair sex, and as an 
obstacle in their way to the possession of those 
delights, which alone have worth and relish in 
the esteem of a woman of fashion.* 

My reader will not be amazed if a life of this 
kind produced no small difficulties in their cir- 
cumstances. Her parents, though not very afflu- 
ent, readily contributed all they could : and ah ! 
too fond — fed scantily and drest meanly, that 
their daughter might be clad in scarlet, and feast 
in delicacy.f It happened that her husband in 

* Alas ! how many Misellas, such thoughtless and impru- 
dent married women, do we see daily : mav the Lord of bis 
infinite mercy lessen the number, by teaching*, them wisdom 
from above. 

t If ever parents were blinded by affection, to the true in- 
terests of their children, surely these were among 1 the number. 



73 

the third year of their marriage, was called 
abroad to attend his regiment. Pleasure was 
her passion ; she felt therefore little regret at 
parting with him. Nor did she live, during his 
absence, like the widowed wife, and separated 
friend. She followed her diversions with re- 
doubled assiduity ; was the life of the ball, the 
delight of the men, the queen of joy. 

But her constitution, tender and delicate, was 
unequal to the toil ; her nocturnal reveries ex- 
tinguished the rose in her cheek ; her laborious 
life of pleasure brought on a consumption. Be- 
sides this, with declining health, her character 
became equivocal; (though it is agreed by all, 
she was never really criminal, in the sense that 
word is commonly used :) but the want of ap- 
pearances is often as fatal to reputation, as even 
the want of virtue itself.* To exhilarate her 



* It is a well-known proverb, " Give a dog an ill name, and 
hang" him ;" and so it is, "If you are not a thief, don't look 
thief-like : 55 the meaning of which is, the loss of reputation., 
however it may be founded only on suspicion, is truly as hurt- 
ful and disadvantageous as though there was real sufScient 
G 



74 

spirits, she had frequent recourse to improper 
means ; to renovate her beauty, she had con- 
stant recourse to destructive arts. 

Her parents, who seldom saw her, — saw her 
only for a few passing moments, which she could 
sometimes, though very rarely, steal from her 
engagements, to dedicate to the children of her 
bowels, and to the parents, whose only joy, she 
knew, was in her company. — Her parents hear* 
ing of her declining state intreated, earnestly 
and with tears intreated her to come to them, 
and to use all proper means for the recovery of 
her health. She sent them no reply ; but using 
what appeared to her the necessary methods, 
yet prosecuting at the same time, her usual 
course of pleasure, she appeared a dead body, 
almost in the bright scenes of revelry and 
joy, — and at length was seized with an acute 
disorder, which in two days carried her ofF> 
in a strange place ; at a distance from her 



ground for it : and if we are not candidates for vice and vota- 
ries of dissipation, we should not associate with those who 
are : for a man is generally known by his company. 






75 

friends I and without a relation to close her 
eyes !* 

A messenger was instantly dispatched to her 
parents ; a tender parent only can guess their 
anguish. The afflicted father flew down to the 
place of her death with all possible speed ; and 
when he entered the house, where lay the dead 
body of his child, his only child, the child of his 
soul,- — " Oh give me my daughter," he cried 
out, " let me but see her dear face, though she 
is dead ; lead me, lead me to my child, shew a 
poor old man the sad remains of all his hopes 
and wishes." — Dumb grief prevailed: — the mis- 
tress of the house conducted him to the door 
of the room, where lay the pale and lifeless 
corpse. 

He threw himself with unutterable distress, 
on the bed, beside his daughter, and bedewing 



* Hapless Misella ! may surviving- fair ones, 
By thy example learn to shun thy fate ; 
How wretched is the woman wise too late, 

G. Baunwell. 



76 

her clay-cold face with tears, lay for some time 
in all the agony of silent sorrow ! " Are we 
thus to meet ?" — At length he burst out thus : — 
" Oh my Kitty, my child, my daughter, are 
those dear lips ever sealed in silence ? — Ah, all 
pale and wan ! — and will those eyes, which used 
to look upon me with such joy, never, never 
open more ? — One word, my child, oh if it were 
but one word !— Ah, cruel and unkind — that I 
might not be allowed to watch thee in thy sick- 
ness ?.hadst thou permitted me to attend, thy 
dear life had been saved. 

" Alas, why do I rave ? she hears me not — 
pale, indeed ; but lovely as ever : Ah, soft and 
precious hand, marble in coldness. — I will never 
let thee go. — Oh my Kitty, my child, my only 
beloved ! — I am undone, for thou art no more ; 
oh that I had died with thee ;* would to God 
I might die this moment! — -My Kitty, my child, 



* Extravagant or excessive grief, is finely depicted in the 
lamentations of David, the man after God's own heart, over 
the corpse of his son Absalom, as recorded in the 18th chapter 
of the 2d book of Samuel. 



77 

my daughter, my all!" — Here again he burst 
into an agony of tears, and betrayed all the signs 
of the most excruciating grief. 

But it is unnecessary to dwell longer on this 
part of our tale ; it will be more proper to make 
some remarks upon it: these, however, together 
with the very different character of Pulcheria, 
must engage the next chapter. 



CHAP. VI. 

Take compassion on the rising age ; 

In them redeem your errors manifold ; 

And by due discipline and nurture sage, 

In Virtue's love betimes your docile sons engage. 

West's Poem on Education. 

HOW great a blessing is early instruction ! — 
Misella never heard the sweetly persuasive lee- 
tures of wisdom ; she was never called to attend 
to the winning voice of religion and truth ; and 
therefore, left to the blind conduct of impetuous 
passions, she was driven along, " to every wave 
G 2 



?8 

a scorn ;" she foundered and was lost ! — We do 
not pretend to say, that early instruction and 
virtue are so inseparably connected as never to 
be divided : we do not say, that all who enjoy 
this advantage must go right ; that all who en- 
joy it not, must infallibly go wrong. This would 
be to contradict palpable experience. But we 
are bold to advance, that there is the chance of 
ten thousand to one, in favour of the former ; 
so is there the same chance, it is feared, against 
the latter 1 .* How alarming a reflection to pa- 
rents ! 

Had Misella, from her early infancy been 
trained up in the knowledge of herself, her God, 
and her duty ; had she been carefully led to a 
true estimate of her corruptible frame ; not de- 
ceived into a wrong opinion of it, from poison- 
ous flattery, and delusive adulation : had she 
been taught, that every good gift comes from 
God, and consequently can be no proper subject 
of human vanity ; had she been taught, that God 

* The wisest man declares, if you train up a child in the 
way he should go, when he is old, he will not depart from it 
Pro v. xxii. 6. 



79 

expects a proper return, and reasonable service 
for the bounty he shews ; that our present state 
is a state of trial, that we are pilgrims and pro- 
bationers of a day ; and must necessarily in a 
short time remove our tent from this world, and 
live — live everlastingly in another, happy' or 
wretched, as we have performed our duty in 
this :* — Had these lessons of useful import been 
early and stedfastly imprinted on her mind; 
most probably the miserable parent had not 
wept in such anguish, over his more miserable 
daughter : most probably her hands might have 
closed, with filial piety and tenderness, his aged 
eyes. 

But — ah me ! — how constantly do we behold 
these important lessons neglected i while fond 
and over- weaning parents, like those of Misella, 
cheat their little ones, even from infancy, into 
false opinions of themselves ! The mistakes so 
frequent and so fatal, in the education of chil- 
dren, would almost lead one to approve the La- 
cedemonian policy, which allowed not to pa- 

* Mat. xxv. 46. 



8€ 

rents the liberty of educating their own chil- 
dren, but committed this most necessary busi- 
ness to the care of the state. And, from an 
accurate observation of the conduct of parents, 
how few have yet fallen within the observation 
of the writer of these lines, who were tolerably 
capacitated for the task! — who had prudence 
and fortitude enough to conquer parental preju- 
dices ; and to stand superior to the soft foibles 
of melting affection. 

With respect to the gentler sex, it is an evil 
too notorious to be denied, that ere the pretty 
innocents can lisp their pleasing tales, they are 
initiated into the school of pride and shew; 
taught to reverence dress even to superstition, 
as the glare of alluring finery ! — The mind thus 
early vitiated, strongly retains the taste ;* va- 
nity and modish folly engross the whole atten- 
tion, and ruin half, or render trifling and insipid. 



Hence let parents and tutors be careful 

In virtue's path to lead the infant mind : 
For as the bough is bent, the tree's inclin'cl 



81 

unwary thousands in the female world. For it 
is a fact, I apprehend, scarcely to be controvert- 
ed, that in the lower orders of life, more women 
are seduced into prostitution, through their love 
of dress, than through their love of vice : and 
in the higher, we kaow, to what lengths an at- 
tachment to this deep-rooted foible is carried. 

With such principles, strongly impressed, how 
can we expect to find in the fair one, the endear- 
ing and sensible companion, replete, as Milton 
phrases it, — with all good, wherein consists 

Woinan*s domestic honour* and chief praise ». 

How can we expect it — while, as he goes oir 3 
they are — 

Bred only and completed to the taste 
Of lustful appetite, to dance and sing", 
To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye !* 

Let it not be said, that the writer is severe : he 
would only w T ish to hold out a friendly warning 

* Paradise Lost, b. xl 1. 616, 



82 

against an evil, destructive to the tender and af- 
fectionate parent: upon whom it principally lies 
to give to female elegance its greatest merit: 
while he intreats the inconsiderate and the fond, 
attentively to contemplate the half-distracted fa- 
ther weeping over the clay-cold corpse of his 
darling Misella* 

And wouldst thou, oh reader, wish thy belov- 
ed offspring a better fate ; wouldst thou wish 
never to share in the horrors of so sad a dis- 
tress ? — then let it be thy chief study early and 
diligently to inform with true wisdom, the 
young, the waxen mind ; attentive to the poet's 
remark : 

Children like tender osiers take the bow, 
And as they first are fashion'd, always grow. 

Sensible of this capital truth, the parents of 
the amiable Pulcheria omitted no opportunity to 
cultivate her mind, and early to lead her into 
the pure and peaceful paths of sacred wisdom. 
She was not inferior in person to Misella ; but 
in conduct how superior ! — in death how differ- 



83 



ent ■!*' As I have not had the happiness to con- 
verse with many, from whom I have reaped 
greater improvement, or received more delight; 
as I have never attended a death-bed, with more 
profit and edification, than that of the ever-va- 
lued Pulcheria; it hath frequently made me cu- 
rious to learn from her parents the method they 
pursued in her education — And one day sitting, 
with her excellent father, I took the liberty to 
hint my desire. 

" I know, sir (said I) you are above the vul- 
gar prejudices ; and have so just a sense of the 
divine wisdom and goodness, in removing your 
daughter from this state of probation to a realm 
of glory, that the subject is rather pleasing than 
painful to you. You know my high opinion of 
her virtues; tell me what particular steps you 
took, in her early days, to lay the foundation of 
that noble structure, which she reared ?" " You 
judge rightly, sir," said the good old man ; " it 
is pleasing to me to think as well as to talk of 
my valuable daughter, whom I reflect upon with 



* Live to the Lord, that thou may'st die 90 too : 
To live and die, is all we have to do 



84 

the most heart-felt complacence, as having soon 
ran her complete circle of virtues here ;* as hav- 
ing speedily finished her course, and entered so 
early on her everlasting reward. 

" Praised be God for giving me such a child ; 
praised be God, for placing before me such an 
•example. — Forgive the involuntary tear — I can- 
not on this occasion withhold it ; the remem- 
brance of my dear angel so affects and ravishes 
me : oh, when will the hour come, that I shall 
once more see her — once more meet her, for 
ever to enjoy her lovely converse — meet her — 
Dear sir, excuse me, the pleasing hope over- 
powers me; excuse the parent; excuse the 
man." — We sat silent a few minutes ; some na- 
tural tears we mutually dropt — but wiped them 
soon ; when my worthy friend proceeded. " I 
will satisfy your desire : I did indeed lay down 

* The speaker perhaps had the following celebrated lines of 
Waller in his view : 

Circles are prais'd, not that abound 
In largeness, but th' exactly round : 
So life we praise, that doth excel 
Not in much time, but acting veil 



85 



.some few rules, respecting the education of my 
child, and they were invariably regarded: I will 
tell you the most material of them. Attribute 
it to the weakness of an old man's memory, if I 
am not altogether so perfect in them as I wish. 

" In care, reproof, correction, and encourage- 
ment, my wife and myself (as all parents should) 
resolved to act, and ever acted in perfect con- 
cert.*— We early taught our child implicit sub- 
mission to ourselves ; assured, that otherwise 
we should be able to teach her nothing. It was 
our care to remove all bad examples, as far as 
possible from her sight ; and in consequence to 
be cautious in our choice of domestics.!— W e 
endeavoured always, to understand ourselves, 
what we wished our child to understand; to be' 
ourselves, what we would have her be ; to do 
ourselves, what we would have her practise ; as 
knowing that parents are the original models, 

* Mothers arc often said to spoil children by indulgence but 
feM parents should mutually unite, and determine not to snare 
-he rod and spoil the chiid. 

t Children are often spoiled by being- left to converse and be 
po familiar with servants. 



86 

upon which children form their tempers and be* 
haviour.* 

" We laboured gradually and pleasingly, to 
infuse into her mind the clearest and most af- 
fecting notions of God ; his universal presence ; 
almighty power ; his goodness, truth, and over- 
ruling providence ; his regard to pious men, and 
attention to their prayers.f These things we 
imprinted upon her tender spirit, and fixed them 
by those striking examples,^ wherewith the sa- 
cred writings abound. — We took care, that she 
should frequently hear conversations upon se- 
rious and spiritual subjects, to which she used to 
attend as matters of curiosity ; and from which 

* Children may generally be said to follow example, rather 
than precept. 

+ As the fear of the Lord is the beginning' of wisdom, pa- 
rents therefore should be careful, to inculcate that fear in their 
children betimes. 

J Such particularly as those of Noah, Abraham, Joseph 
&c. the passage of the Israelites through the Red Sea ; the 
miracles in the wilderness ; the deliverance of Daniel and o 
the three Israelites from the furnace.— The miracles of Christ 
the Apostles, &c. 



87 

she caught much of a religious and proper spirit. 
Few people are sensible of the advantage de- 
rived to children from suitable and serious con- 
versation.^ - 

" It was our most earnest study, early to shew 
her the vanity of the world : the frailty of the 
body ; the corruption of our fallen nature, the 
dignity and infinite worth of the immortal souljf 
and to make her acquainted, as she was capable, 
with what God hath done for that soul ; and to 
set before her all the riches and mercy of re- 
demption. — We constantly inculcated upon her, 
this important truth, that she was not created 
merely to live here below, but in the glorious 
and eternal world above; and that she was 
placed here only to have her virtue tried and 
exercised,^ that she might be made fit to live 

* Alas! how trifling and improper, is the conversation of too 
many parents before their children, and how little calculated to 
inform their judgments, or regulate their conduct. 

f Mat. xvi. 26. 

| The present life is justly styled a state of trial and proba- 
tion j for the scriptures of divine truth frequently represent it 



88 

for ever in heaven. — i And therefore, my dear, 
you see (I used to observe) that there can be 
no room for pride in your person, or vanity in 
any external endowments, for your body is the 
workmanship of the great God ; you cannot make 
one hair of your head white or black : and your 
body is but the prison, if I may so say, of your 
nobler part, which is immortal, and must share 
in the rewards or punishments of futurity, while 
your body will moulder in corruption, and be- 
come so odious, that your nearest and dearest 
friends cannot approach it.* 

* Remember, you have received all you are 
and all you have from God ; therefore never 
presume to assign any merit to yourself; nor es- 
timate any thing here below, at too high a rate : 



as a warfare, and the troubles and afflictions we meet with, as 
so many trials of our faith, patience, and resignation. 2 Tim. 
ii. 3, 4. 1 Pet. i. 7. 

* If a beautiful, proud, and gay woman, would but seriously 
reflect on what a loathsome carcass she must ere long become, 
in the silent grave, amidst worms, rottenness, and corruption, 
it would tend to mortify her pride, lessen her vanity, and teach 
her to be humble. 



for this life you perceive is only a state of trial, 
and of consequence unworthy our too fond at- 
tachment. Heaven is your home ; God is your 
father; and eternity is your life.' But pardon 
me, dear sir, I digress from my rules, and like 
an old man indeed, fall into downright prating. 
— Satisfied that all religion stands or falls with 
the breach of the sabbath, we habituated our 
dear child from her infancy, to sanctify that sa- 
cred day : to esteem highly the word of God ; 
to reverence his ordinances, and to respect his 
ministers. And we were especially careful, that 
with all religious instruction (you know my own 
sentiments) she should imbibe a spirit of uni- 
versal candour, goodness, and charity ; as far 
from the wildness of enthusiasm, as from the 
narrowness of superstition and bigotry. 

" We always addressed her understanding, 
and treated her as a rational * creature : we en- 
couraged her enquiries, and used her betimes to 

* We suppose, that by this remark the gentleman means to 
express his disapprobation of the simple method, in which many 
ignorant nurses (we would not say parents) treat children ; as 
if they imagined them mere liltle animals, unconcerned with 
rationality. 

II 2 



90 

think and to reason. We represented vice in its 
true colours,^ which are the most odious, and 
virtue in her proper form of beauty and loveli- 
ness. — We were especially diligent to give her a 
deep sense of truth and integrity ; and an abhor- 
rence of all manner of falsehood, fraud, craft, sub- 
terfuge, and dissimulation, as base, dishonour- 
able, and highly displeasing to the Almighty. 
Assured that we could not cherish veracity too 
much, we never were severe for any fault she 
ingenuously acknowledged ; but always while 
we strove to convince her of the wrong she had 
done, w r e honoured and commended her for the 
truth she had spoken. f 

" Convinced of the ciuntless evils which at- 
tend the female sex from their passion for dress 
and shew, we endeavoured all in our power to 
Ave her a low r , that is, a true opinion of these 



6 



Well might Pope say, 

Vice to be hated, need but to be seen, 

■ It is an old proverb, and a just one, 

Truth may be blam'd, but can't be sham'd, 



91 

things ; and though she always wore such appa- 
rel in her younger days as became her rank and 
station, yet we never deceived her into a wrong 
opinion of herself by gaudy, external ornaments 
—If we had, how could we have excused our- 
selves ?■* — Whenever we observed any thing 
tending to a bold, pert, or forward behaviour 
(though, blessed be God, there was even from 
her infancy little appearance of this) it was 
checked immediately: for we knew it might 
grow up into a flippant pertness, or a dissolute 
insolence. 

u From many examples before us, we saw the 
misfortune of suffering children to be men and 
women too soon ; for children are by no means, 
fit to govern themselves, or to direct others : — - 
we avoided this dangerous rock. Soon as she 
was able to apply to the business of instruction, 
we inured her to diligence and close application, 
yet not so close as to deprive her of such amuse- 

* Parents are much to blame to encourage, or countenance 
their children in following the fashions of the times too scrupu- 
lously ; it naturally tends to promote pride and vanity in the 
young and tender breast, 



92 

ments and exercises as were proper to preserve 
cheerfulness, vivacity, and health.^" And you, 
who knew her (good sir) and her many accom- 
plishments, will do me the justice to believe, 
that we permitted her not to want any ad- 
vantages of increasing in wisdom and know- 
ledge, and that she did not abuse those advan- 
tages. 

" I had forgot to observe, that we taught her 
most assiduously the duty of humanity; for we 
taught her to reverence the feelings of nature 
even in the lowest orders of creatures ; we suf- 
fered her not to treat any with contempt, but to 
shew all possible acts of tenderness and charity, 
cherishing with all our might a spirit of modesty 
and gentleness, of benevolence and compassion, 
even to insects and animals, always discounte- 
nancing that wanton cruelty which some chil- 
dren shew as an early proof of a barbarous, 
wicked, and inhuman disposition. f 

* This is a good rule for parents to act by in general, towards 
their children, respecting 1 their employments and diversions. 

f See advice to a daughter. 



93 

" And the fruits were equal to our labours — 
the lovely plant well repaid all our care and 
tendance.' 5 

To shew that this was not merely the remark 
of parental partiality, let us proceed to take a 
view, in our next chapter of the amiable Pulche- 
ria in her life and death. 



CHAP. VII. 

Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain ; but a woman that fear- 
eth the Lord, she shall be praised. Prov. xxxi. 30, 

OUR obligations are truly great to those 
parents who carefully train up their children in 
the paths of wisdom, piety, and virtue ; that 
they may be enabled to discharge every social 
duty with propriety.* And as so much of the 
comfort and peace of human life depend upon 

* Children can never be sufficiently sensible of the obliga- 
tions they lie under to their parents, for their care, protection, 
and education, till they become parents themselves. 



94 

the fair sex, we are doubly indebted to those 
who early inform their tender minds, and de- 
liver into the hands of the husband, not only 
the lovely mistress, but the endearing companion, 
and heart-approved friend. This was the con- 
stant and successful endeavour of the parents of 
Pulcheria; some of whose rules in the educa- 
tion of their child, were delivered in the forego- 
ing chapter. 

An education so wise and rational, could 
scarce be supposed to have failed of the desired 
effect. The modesty, understanding, and ele- 
gance of Pulcheria were generally observed, 
and the charms of her person, though of the first 
rate, were always eclipsed by the superior beau- 
ties of her mind. She was sensible, but not as- 
suming ; humble, but not mean ; familiar, but 
not loquacious ; religious, but not gloomy.^ 

* This reminds me of the character of Marcia, in the tra- 
gedy of Cato : 

Though she is fair, oh how divinely fair ! 
But then the lovely maid improves her charms 
With inward greatness, unaitected wisdom, 
r A.nd sanctity of manners. 

Addison, 



95 

The tenderness and delicacy of her sentiments 
peculiarly recommended her, and that sweet 
temper, which never suffered her to indulge the 
malevolence of censure, rendered her the object 
of universal esteem. I speak not of her accU 
dental acquirements, her skill in music, her taste 
for painting, &c. nor of her domestic know- 
ledge : suffice it to say, she was well accomplish* 
ed in these, and in every improvement which 
her parents could supply, or she herself could 
make. 

The happy Benvolio, with the perfect appro- 
bation of her parents, received this rich treasure 
to his embraces, and called the lovely Pulcheria 
his, in her twenty-first year. He was the object 
of her choice, and his acknowledged worth well 
justified her heart's attachment to him. The 
fruits of her parents' care were now abundant- 
ly manifested; Benvolio thought — and justly 
thought— his lot peculiarly blessed, in a wife of 
so refined and happy a disposition. The felicity 
was consummate, as the strongest and most un* 
dissembled affection can produce. Their plea- 
sures were mutual; and of separate satisfac* 



96 

tions,^-happy pair ! — they had not the least 
idea!* 

Her servants could never be lavish enough in 
her praises ; for she treated them always with the 
most amiable humanity: " she considered them, 
she used to say, as fellow-creatures, placed indeed 
in an inferior station ; but not on that account 
the less acceptable in the sight of God. Nay, 
if we remembered (she would observe) who it 
was that for our sakes took upon him the form 
of a servant, we should certainly treat our do- 
mestics with becoming gentleness. Besides, 
she would go on, it appears to me an office of 
common humanity, to render a state of servi- 
tude and dependance as light and pleasing as 
possible : for while we by the bounty of Heaven, 

* Happy they ! the happiest of their kind, 
Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate 
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend 
'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws, 
Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, 
That binds their peace ; but harmony itself 
Attuning all their passions into love. 

Thomson's Seasons. 



9? 

enjoy such superior blessings, shall we not, in 
gratitude, do all in our power to bless others 
who are less favoured by Providence ?* — I es- 
teem my servants as a kind of meaner, humbler 
friends : and though I would on no account 
make myself too familiar with them, or listen 
either to their flattery or their tales ; yet I never 
would be deficient in alleviating their inconve- 
niences, and promoting their real happiness. "f 

Acting upon these principles, she was the dar- 
ling of her domestics ; they beheld her with a 
degree of veneration. She was so happy as sel- 
dom to find cause to change ; and she never en- 
tertained her friends with tedious tales of the 
ill behaviour and errors of her servants»t I 

* However different our stations in life may be, we are all of 
the same blood ; and therefore have no reason to be proud of 
ourselves, or to lord it over those who are below us ; but to be 
humble, thankful, and benevolent. 

f Good masters often make good servants : would to God, 
every master and mistress properly considered this, and adopt- 
ed the sentiments and conduct of Benvolio and Ptilcheria for 
their own. 

\ A practice too common with many in the present dav, but 
highly censurable and imprudent. 
I 



98 

should observe, that she was careful to see them 
well instructed in their duty, and for that pur- 
pose she not only supplied them with proper 
books, but saw that they read them, while her 
beloved partner omitted no opportunity to assist 
in this necessary service. 

Conscious of the high obligation upon all to 
observe the Sabbath, she strictly devoted that 
day to religion. She took care that such of her 
family as could possibly be spared, 'should al- 
ways attend with her at the morning and even- 
ing service of the parish church. This she es- 
teemed an indispensable duty;* and never al- 
lowed herself to ramble from church to church, 
as was the case with some ladies of her ac- 
quaintance, in the neighbourhood, whose prac- 
tice she constantly disapproved. (C I owe this 
duty," she used to say, " to my family, to my 
neighbours, to my minister: and I cannot tell 
what evil may arise from a different example. " 

* How great the pity! that so many persons in the superior 
walks of life, content themselves with only going" to church on 
Sundays, without suitably attending- to, and constantly prac* 
rising- what they hear preached ; hearing- the gospel should al- 
ways be accompanied with a life regulated by its prospects. 



99 

The evening of the Sabbath was always spent 
in religious exercises ; and she never w r ould 
*h\nk of seeing company on that day. Routs on 
Sundays were rw t ««~^ =~ u^. o nn rehension. 
" I can excuse, 55 she would often observe, 
" those in the lower stations of life, who have 
no other day of leisure but the Sabbath, and who 
ptrrnwj*o „-... r ^ M4 . „ n \ n narrow shops all the rest 
of the week, if they dedicate some part 01 tnc 
day to recreation :* but for us, who have the 
enjoyment of all the week, surely it is inexcusa- 
ble to devote this sacred day to our pleasures. 
Shall not the great giver of all, receive a tribute 
of some small portion of our time ?" 

But were I to dwell upon all the excellencies 
of her life and conduct, the limits prescribed me 
in this paper would soon be exceeded. I shall 
omit, therefore, any account of the benevolent 
charity which she exercised so largely (inso- 
much that never a child of distress went with a 
heavy heart and unrelieved from her presence) 

* This sentiment is not agreeable to the fourth command, 
s < Remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy," and therefore 
should not be adopted by a follower of Christ, be his station 
in the world what it may. 



100 

--while I hasten to give some account of her 
death. Her constitution was delicate ; after the 
birth of the second beloved infant wh^ K ~ k ^ 
Jirrui^i-fcJ— — l^cxTOtixj-^Tier nrst died early, and 
gave an opportunity for the display of the most 
exemplary resignation) she caught a cold which 
was accompanied with unhappy circumstances ; 
and though she recov^^ «- ~— lu " rtOUre J Y et 
the consequence was an hasty decay. 

It is not easy to conceive the anguish of her 
parents and her husband upon so melancholy an 
occasion ; upon a discovery that all the efforts of 
art, and all the powers of medicine were in vain ; 
while her patience and resignation obliged them 
to refrain from every word of repining,* though 
it tended to increase their sorrow, by enhancing 
their esteem for her. Happy as I was in her 
friendship, it was my custom often to visit her 
during her long and trying illness ; but I shall 
not easily forget an interview at the close of it, 

* We cannot but feel for and sympathize with those whom 
we love, when they are in pain and sorrow ; but it is inconsist- 
ent for us as Christians to murmur or repine, being 1 assured 
what God dees either respecting- us or ours, is right and 
best. 



loi 

which I must confess wholly unmanned me, 
while it taught me the deepest humility. 

I found her seated in the chair of sickness, in 
her bed-chamber, with her little infant lying in 
her lap, over w T hich she hung w r ith such a look of 
maternal fondness and anxiety, as I yet never 
saw, and which no painting could express ! Soon 
as I advanced, she lifted up her eyes, in which 
stood the big and affectionate drops ; while 
death seemed to sit upon her countenance, wan, 
yet not void of that placid sweetness, which ever 
dwelt upon it. 

" I was indulging, sir," said she 5 u and I 
hope not improperly, some natural affection, and 
taking, perhaps, — my last leave of my poor little 
babe, who holds my heart too fast — (false and 
weak heart as it is) rather too fast bound to this 
transitory scene ! Pretty innocent ! see how it 
smiles on its weeping mother ; unconscious yet 
of the bitterness of grief, and the sadness of 
tears. — Sweet babe ! I must leave thee; the Fa- 
ther of heaven thinks fit, and his will be done. 
But oh, the parent, dear sir, the parent will feel : 
—surely this will not be deemed a deficiency in 
1 2 



102 

humble resignation. 5 '^ I observed that Chris- 
tianity by no means opposes humanity; and that 
grace doth not destroy, it only regulates and re- 
fines our affections. 

" My soul," she went on, " thankfully acqui- 
esces in all the divine disposals, and I am satis- 
fied, that whatever a God of love and wisdom 
ordains, must be best for his creatures. But 
when I look upon this dear innocent ; when I 
consider the various evils of the world, and the 
prevalence of our corrupt passions: when I con- 
sider the peculiar inconveniences of our sex, if 
deprived of maternal care and instruction, my 
heart throbs with sensible anxiety — and I wish — 
O Father of love, pity and pardon me ! Must I, 
ah, must I leave this sweet harmless creature to 
all the trials and difficulties of life ! — Oh my 
pretty babe, I must leave thee ; but I shall in- 
trust thee (and in that let me take comfort) in- 
trust thee to a tender father, and to the protec- 
tion of a Saviour and a God, who careth for his 
little ones. Blessed Saviour" — She was here 



* Christians are not stoics, they cannot but feel, though 
they should not fall under their troubles and afflictions. 



103 

overpowered by the strength of her affection : 
and falling into a fainting fit, from which we al- 
most apprehended she would never recover, her 
husband and her parents were instantly called 
up ; every effort was used to restore her; though 
grief suffered no one present to utter a syllable. 
The scene was the most profoundly awful I ever 
beheld. 

At length she came to herself; and the first 
object she saw was her trembling mother bathed 
in tears, and holding her clay-cold hand; on the 
other side stood her father ; at her feet knelt her 
anxious and distressed husband — around her 
several of us were placed, whose tears suffici- 
ently witnessed our concern. She raised her 
languid eyes ; gazed earnestly at us — then fixed 
them upon her mother, " Best and most beloved 
of parents," said she, " farewell, farewell; God 
of his mercy reward your tender care of me, 
and give us a meeting in the future world.— Oh 
my father, and are you too there ? — do not let 
me see your tears : support my poor mother, 
and remember you have a daughter gone before 
you, to that place where all sorrow ceases:-— 



104 

But my husband" — She said no more ; then 
threw her arms round his neck, and both 
mingled their tears together for some time. 
She- sighed forth, " Best and most dear of men, 
let me thank you, sincerely thank you, for all the 
marks of your tender esteem. Be kind to my 
pretty babe ; oh ! why should I say be kind ? I 
know your goodness; but my sweet innocent ; 
let her — " — She stopt short — but soon went on, 
" I little expected all this pain at parting; this is 
dying ; this is truly the bitterness of death.^ 

" My dear friends," she continued, address- 
ing herself to all of us around her, " accept my 
best acknowledgments for all your kind offices 
to me ; if you ever remember me when I am 
gone, remember, that my soul perfectly rejoiced 
in God's dealing with me ; and that however the 
weaker passions of nature may prevail ; yet I am 
wholly resigned to his will, thankful to him for 



* This pathetic picture (drawn, as we may naturally sup- 
pose) from life, somewhat resembles the affecting description 
of an eminent Christian in his dying moments, in Mr. Hervey's 
Meditations among the Tombs, page 49, Johnson's edition. 



105 

all ; nay, desirous to quit this world, that I may 
see my dear Saviour, the Lord of life and love, 
who gave his life for me, and in whose merits 
alone I joyfully trust for salvation, 

" I am on the brink of eternity, and now see 
clearly the imnnr*~~«~ ^r u.- — Remember, oh. 
remember, that every thing in time is insignifi- 
cant to the awful concern of " Eternity,* 

she would have said, but her breath failed : 

she fainted a second time ; and when all our la- 
bours to recover her seemed just effectual, and 
she appeared returning to life, a deep sob alarm, 
ed us— and the lovely body was left untenanted 
by its immortal inhabitant. 

Now she is numbered among the children of 
God ; and her lot is among the saints. 



* Well does the poet say, 

All, all on earth is shadow, all beyond 

Is substance 

Hosv solid all, where change shall be no more ! 

Dr. Youn&. 



106 

Well may it be said, " Blessed are the dead^ 
who die in the Lord, for they rest from their la- 
bours, and their works do follow them." 



CHAP. VIII. 

Should such a wretch to numerous years arrive, 
It can be little worth his while to live : 
No honours, no regards his age attend, 
Companions fly ; he ne'er could have a friend ; 
His flatterers leave him, and with wild affright, 
He looks within, and shudders at the sight : 
Whenthreat'ning death uplifts his pointed dart, 
With what impatience he applies to art, 
Life to prolong amidst disease and pains ! 
— Why this, if after it no sense remains ? 
Why should he choose those miseries to endure* 
If death could grant an everlasting cure ! 
'Tis plain there's something whispers in his ear, 
(Though fain he'd hide it) he has much to fear. 

Jenny ns's translation of Brown's Poem 
on Immortality, &c. 

AMONGST the various arguments of con- 
solation on the loss of our friends, that which is 
drawn from the pleasing hope of a future meet- 
ing, and perfect felicity, doubtless is the most 



107 

persuasive. Grief subsides, and sorrow softens 
into a tenderly pleasing remembrance ; when 
the soul is comforted with the happy expecta- 
tion of one day seeing again — seeing never more 
to separate, those whom death hath torn from 
our affectionate embraces, and removed a little 
before us, to our Father's house. 

The transporting thought suffers us no longer 
to lament our loss ; the fiame of our friendship 
is still kept alive, and the anxious fear of disap* 
point ment on our part, becomes an active prin- 
ciple of obedience and duty. — See in this view 
what we owe to our friends, and how careful 
we should be religiously to pass the short time 
of our pilgrimage here, that when we depart 
they may have scriptural grounds to believe, 
that our souls are with God ; and that at his 
right-hand they shall meet us, in the fulness of 
bliss. 

What a comfort was this to the parents and 
friends of the amiable Pulcheria : who, sensible 
of her constant attention to spiritual concerns, 
were well convinced, that her change was from 
mortality to glory, and therefore resigned her 



108 

with cheerful thanksgiving to God; weeping 
over her, it is true, but weeping only the tears 
of gentle affection ; and living always with a 
comfortable respect to that happy hour when 
again they should meet, after a melancholy ab- 
sence, to part no more for ever. 

And shall it be ? — Oh thou God of infinite 
grace ! ever studious of thy creature's felicity, 
various in thy bounties, and infinite in loving- 
kindness : — it must be so. For whatever con- 
duces most to our bliss, we have abundant evi- 
dence to conclude, will be always thy decree, — 
It must be so ! — oh pleasing, balmy hope I* 
And once again, ye best-loved parents, ye ten- 
der solicitous guardians of my youth, once 
again shall I behold you — but ah ! not as once ; 
not as wasted with sickness, and wearied with 
pain ! I shall see you made like unto God ; and 
saved from sorrow, from sin, and from death. 



It must be so, ■ 



Or whence those pleasing' hopes, those fond desires, 
Those longings after immortality ? 
5 Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter, 
And intimates eternity to man. 

Addison's Cato 



109 

Thou too, my Lancaster, loved friend of my 
youth, with whom so often I have roved along 
the banks of favoured Cam, and enjoyed all the 
sweets of virtuous, unpolluted friendship ; thou 
too shalt rejoice my longing sight ; for never hast 
thou been wiped from the tablets of my memory ; 
still have I borne thee, as a seal upon my heart; 
my first, my dearest, my disinterested friend ! 
Happy, thrice happy thou ! far removed from this 
bad world, ignorant of its ensnaring arts and fa- 
tal deceits. Happy, thrice happy thou ! offered, 
in virtuous innocence, and unhackneyed in the 
ways of evil men, an unpolluted flower, an early 
and sweet sacrifice to heaven.* — And shall we 
meet? Alas, too well I know where rests the 
only doubt. But the blest hope shall animate 
my soul: still, still will I maintain the painful 
conflict. Aid me, oh mighty Redeemer, in the 
fight; and through thy merits give me victory,! 

* Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, 
She sparkled, was exhal'd, and went to heaven. 

Night Thoughts, 

t St. Paul declares, we are more than conquerors through 
him that hath loved us. Rom. viii. 3~ 



lio 

give a happy, speedy union with thyself, and 
with my deceased friends. 

But have we not living friends ? And shall we 
in our regard for the dead forget our duty to the 
living ? — Forbid it, heaven I Nor let it be fear- 
ed, where virtuous friendship reigns in the gen- 
erous heart, that the love which awakens every 
tender sentiment for the departed, will make us 
less anxious to communicate felicity to the sur- 
viving; less anxious so to live, that we may 
leave behind us the sweet odour of our memory, 
and the anxious desire to enjoy us again. With- 
out this reciprocation of mutual endearments, 
what is life, and what is man ? Was he formed 
for himself, or can he be blest in Unsocial exist* 
ence ? Can he be contented (nay then let him re- 
linquish his claim to immortality) can he be con- 
tented to live without the love, to die without 
the tribute of friendly remembrance! — Can he 
be contented to live the despiser of his God ? 
and to die the affiicter of his friends, who can 
never think without horror of his future exist- 
ence i Row then can they dry up their tears ? 
Oh wretched parents of the more wretched Mi- 



Ill 

sella ! my heart bleeds for you : I wonder not 
that ye refuse to be comforted. 

Have we then any value for our friends, are 
they really dear to us, do we wish to remove 
every cause of anguish from their souls, and to 
wipe off every tear of distress from their eyes? 
— Let this be a motive to influence our conduct, 
and to render us active in the discharge of every 
duty to God and to them ; that so when we are 
summoned to that future and important world, 
they may close our eyes with peace, and say 
with heart-felt satisfaction, " Farewell, oh fare- 
well, thou dearest, best-loved friend ! Thy life, 
thy love, thy faith, leave us no room to doubt of 
thy felicity. Thou art happy — we mourn only 
for ourselves. Yet soon, very soon, we hope 
to meet thee again. — Then farewell only for a 
little while : we will ever bear thee in most 
faithful remembrance ; and treading in the paths 
of thy virtues, will hope speedily to receive thy 
reward." 

How desirable to leave this world, thus la- 
mented and beloved ! How much better than to 
drag out a contemptible existence through three- 



112 

score and ten worthless years, and at length to 
drop into the grave, and there to rot, without 
one longing wish from one lamenting friend ?* 

The contrast, perhaps, may strike us ; let us 
view it in Bubulo ; whose funeral obsequies I 
saw lately performed, with all the pomp and 
vain parade of ostentatious pride ; yet though 
carried to the silent tomb, with all this farce of 
shew, no eye dropt a tear, and no heart heaved 
a sigh when Bubulo ceased to breathe. 

Full threescore years and ten had Bubulo en- 
cumbered with his heavy load, this sublunary 
world ; and it would be difficult to point out any 
works of benevolence or religion, any works of 
rear worth or humanity, which distinguished 
these seventy years. Fond of vile pelf, the 
earth-worm continually toiled to add to his 
heap ; and though rich, and daily increasing in 
wealth, could never prevail upon himself to com- 
municate of his riches to others, or to serve his 
nearest relations. Yet smooth were his words, 



5 They who live unbeloved, may naturally expect to die xm- 
lamented. 



113 

and fair were his promises ; and who that knew 
him not, would have thought him any other than 
an universal friend to mankind ? 

The hours which were not devoted to gain^ 
were consecrated to the service of his nice and 
enormous appetite, to devouring of flesh, and 
drinking of wine. He was, in this respect, a 
perfect animal : and who that saw him at a city 
feast ever thought him of a superior order? 
His faculties were almost entirely absorbed by 
this life of indulgence and gluttony : yet stupid 
as he appeared to be, he could pretend to scoff 
at religion, to deny even the being, and to des- 
pise the revelation of God. — What a dreadful 
character I from such slaves of the devil and 
heirs of hell good Lord deliver us. 

He found a female willing to submit to the 
slavery of his dominion: she brought him three 
children, and happily was soon freed from her 
captivity. The eldest son continued a kind of 
superior servant to him, till his death, which he 
had long impatiently wished for, and at length 
heard of with joy. The younger, of a more 
sprightly disposition, unbiassed by principles, 
K 2 



114 

rushed headlong into the practice of all fashion- 
able vices, and being unassisted by his father, 
committed some actions which obliged him to 
secure himself, by a voluntary banishment to the 
West-Indies. His daughter, though frequently 
asked in marriage, could never prevail upon him 
to forward her happy settlement in life :— he 
could not spare a fortune for her; she continued 
with him, therefore, in a state of discontent^ and 
added but little to his felicity by her filial duty, 
as he was so averse to make any addition to 
her's by his parental regard. He saw his wi- 
dowed sister, with many little orphans, sur- 
rounded with a variety of difficulties ; and per- 
suaded at length to undertake her affairs, em- 
broiled them more and more ; and in conclusion 
gave them up, because his own business and 
concerns would not allow him sufficient time to 
attend to them. 

A long and wasting illness warned him of 
eternity: — he would not receive the warning. 
He dreaded death, yet would not prepare to die. 
The jovial associates at the tavern and the club, 
forsook and forgot him : — his servants attended 
on, but cursed him: — his children thought every 



115 

day of his existence too long : — the few depend- 
ants, which his money occasioned, ceased to re- 
gard him, and paid their respects chiefly to his 
son. Bubulo observed it, and it grieved him to 
his very soul. He sent for more and more phy- 
sicians ; they wrote, shook their heads, and took 
their fees : all hope was gone. The minister of 
the parish was sent for.— He found the almost 
lifeless wretch weeping, and lying along the 
ground ; for he would be removed from his bed ; 
but not having strength to support himself, he 
fell down, and in a few moments died. — No- 
body wept, for nobody had cause to weep : the 
pride of the family gave him a pompous funeral,, 
— and now he is forgotten ! 

Think not, oh reader, the character of Bubulo 
exaggerated. He lived ! — and alas, too much it 
is to be feared, there are many such Bubulos 
living, whose example should inspire us with 
detestation of a life, which must certainly end in 
a death not less dreadful. 



N. E. A friend of the writer of these reflections is pleased to 
observe, « The Reflections on Death please me much. But 
don't you carry things rather too far, when you say (in your 



116 

7th chapter) < It is an indispensable duty to go to our parish 
church?'— Was I to live in London, I should rarely or never 
go to my parish church, if I had a stupid humdrum minister- 
I long to live in London, that I might hear clever men, &c. I 
disapprove as much as you can do, running after Methodist 
preachers and enthusiasts ; but should I not prefer a Sherlock 
at the Temple, if I lived in Fleet-street, to, &c." 

It is a misfortune, that when gentlemen quote, they will not 
refer to the work, and observe the words.— It is not said posi- 
tively, in the place referred to, that "it is an indispensable duty, 
&c.»— The writer of the Reflections doth not deliver his own 
sentiments in that place ; he only says (see page 98.) that the 
lady, whose character is given, Pulcheria, esteemed it (for her 
part) an indispensable duty. It did not follow from thence, that 
the writer of these Reflections thought it so : though being 
thus called upon by a man cf sense and learning (as his friend 
confessedly is) he is now ready to declare, that he sincerely 
thinks there can be but very few exceptions. As to that of a 
Sherlock, it is too peculiar to be drawn into example.— But 
what would this gentleman say of those, who, loose to all con- 
nections with their parish minister, &c. would leave a Sherlock, 
nay, and esteem him a legal preacher without unction, &c. &c. 
to hear a butcher, or a weaver, a man without learning, nay, it 
may be, a stranger to his own mother tongue ? 



CHAP. IX. 

—Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin ; 
No reckoning made, but sent to my account, 
With all my imperfections on my head! 
O horrible—O horrible ; most horrible ! 

Shakespeare. 

IN the liturgy of the church of England, 
we pray to God to deliver us from sudden 
death ; that is, as her best divines have always 
explained it, and as reason clearly understands 
it from a death sudden and unlooked for, from 
a death instantaneous and unexpected;* for 
which no provision has been made which finds 
the soul utterly unprepared, and sends the un- 
happy creature into eternity, with all his imper- 
fections on his head. A death like this is doubt- 
less to be deprecated, more than the wide-wast- 
ing pestilence, or the devouring sword.f 

* Beware Lorenzo, a slow sudden death. 

Night Thoughts, 

t The thought of death alone the fear destroys^ 
A disaffection to that precious thought, 



118 

On the other side, to the good man, to the 
soul conscious of its frail dependance here, and 
properly careful to secure its eternal interests in 
the world beyond the grave, a sudden death is 
so far from an evil, that it appears rather a bless- 
ing, and in this view has been earnestly wished 
for, even by men of exemplary piety. * 

Indeed, strictly speaking, there is no such 
thing as sudden death to us, who as soon as we 
are born, begin to draw to our end ; who breathe 
this sublunary air as temporary strangers, exist- 
ing only a while upon the bounty of Provi- 
dence ; and assured that the moment will come 
shortly, may come instantly, when the Lord of 
life shall summon us into his tremendous pre- 
sence.f And as such is the condition of our 

Is more than midnight darkness on the soul. 
Which sleeps beneath it, on a precipice, 
Fuff'd off by the first blast, and lost for ever. 

Dr Young. 

* St. Paul had a desire to depart, Phil. i. 23. St. John 
wishes for the coming' of Jesus Christ quickly, in the 22d of 
his Revelations, and 20th verse. 

f The young, the old, the rich, the poor, 
Can neither, life an hour ensure. 

Solitary Walks - 






119 

being, we cannot properly call that stroke sud- 
den ; to live in constant expectation of which, is 
our highest wisdom and duty. Submission to 
the will of him who is as good as he is wise, is 
doubtless the best service which such imperfect 
creatures can pay in every particular; and there- 
fore we act most wisely, when we submit the 
determination of this point to the Father of mer- 
cies, and wait with resignation either from the 
momentary stroke, or the long and lingering tri- 
al, which dismisseth us from the stage of life. — ■ 
This care only should be ours ; well to act our 
parts, that the dismission may be with a plaudit, 
with the approbation of our Judge. * 

" Yet, yet, oh Father of unutterable love, thou 
source of everlasting goodness, yet if the mean- 
est of thy creatures might be allowed to make 
his request — if thou wouldst deign to give him 
liberty of choice — suffer him not, oh do not suf-' 
fer him long to languish on the bed of feeble 

* Let rich and poor lay this to heart, 
Not he who acts the greatest part, 
But they who act the best, will be 
The happiest men eternally. 

Rural Christian. 



120 

disease, or excruciating pain; nor yet snatch 
him hence, by an instantaneous stroke, before 
he has looked his last farewell, and given the 
final affectionate adieu to all his heart approved, 
his dearest, tenderest, and most valued friends I* 
He will not call their kind attendance round his 
bed, " the afflicting parade of death : he will re- 
joice in their sympathetic tenderness ; he will 
struggle to pour forth the voice of consolation 
and love ; he will point to the hope which up- 
holds his soul, the shining pole-star by which he 
steers, and by which he trusts his dearest friends 
shall steer into the joyful harbour of eternal rest! 
The hope, the star, the sun, Christ Jesus, the 
conqueror of death, and destruction of the 
grave-t 

Such was the petition of the beloved Uranius ; 
heaven heard and granted his prayer. This day 

* Neither a sudden or lingering death is in general to be 
wished for, but God's own time and way, for removing out of 
this present evil world, should be the matter of our prayer, and 
full submission to, as the best and fittest ; while to be habitu- 
ally ready for awful summon*, should be our daily study and 
concern. 

+ Hosea xiii. 14. 



121 

he sickened; the next summoned and took leave 
of his friends ; perfect in his senses, he saw death 
approaching, and saw him unappalled I for he 
had led his life in continual preparation for the 
awful event. — On the evening of the third day, 
he closed his eyes, and commended his spirit to 
God, who gave it; and almost without a groan, 
exchanged this mortal for an immortal state ! — 
Happy Uranius — so let me die ! or rather, let me 
say, " so let me live," and death cannot fail to 
be blessed.* 

How different was the death, and ah! how dif- 
ferent was the life of my neighbour Agricola .; 
who often, though in vain, I have endeavoured 
to wean from the world, and to shew the deceit 
and delusion of all earthly attachments. But 
alas, he would not believe ! Agricola was a 
wealthy and laborious farmer ; it might, strictly 
speaking, be said of him, that " he rose up early, 
and late took rest, and eat the bread of careful- 



* Where to live is Christ, to die must be gain, eternal 
gain ; for thus saith the Spirit, " blessed are the dead who die 
in the Lord." 

L 



122 

ness."* He prevented the morning's dawn, 
and called the hinds to the field, ere the rosy sun 
peeped over the misty mountains. The flail, 
early heard resounding in his barn, awakened 
the rest of the village, and was industry's sum- 
mons to arise. His shepherds first drove their 
flocks a^field ; and as the bleating multitude 
poured from their cotes, Agricola stood by, and 
beheld with rapture the whiteness of their fleeces, 
and the strength of his sportive lambs. The 
neighbouring markets saw him always first to 
enter, and last to leave the scene of commerce 
and advantage ; his samples were always ready, 
and were always best* 

Thus he pursued temporal things with unwea- 
ried application, and unremitted diligence ; but 
for eternal things, Agricola never once heeded, 
never once thought of them ! What then ? Did 
not Agricola believe in God, in providence, in 
eternity? Oh yes, he believed all this jf but he 

* Psal. cxxvii. 2. 

f True faith on a firm belief in these great and glorious doc- 
trines of divine revelation, will never leave mankind to live (as 



123 

had no time to think of such things ! " Hereaf- 
ter," was his word ; it will be soon enough 
" hereafter?" What then? — Did Agricola for- 
sake the weekly service of the church, and wholly 
relinquish the worship of God? — Oh, by no 
means, Agricola never, or very rarely, was ab- 
sent from the divine service : he generally in- 
vited the curate of his little village — (a poor la- 
borious man, like himself, who rode with all 
haste from parish to parish, and served three 
distant churches !) He generally invited him to 
a regale at his house on the Sabbath ; when the 
time would allow, the good man embraced it 
with thankfulness ; they drank together in friend- 
ly sort ; and behold, their conversation was of 
11 the oxen in the field." Agricola had sagacity 
enough to discern this impropriety in the con- 
duct of the man of God. His rector's rare ap- 
pearance in this village, and ready acceptance of 
his tithes, gave him also no very favourable idea 
of religion.* He judged these men servants of 

the common phrase is) as they list, or to act without thought 
and consideration, but will more or less influence the life, and 
regulate the conduct. 

* From such worldly minded rectors and curates, good Lord 
deliver us, 



124 

the Lord for the wages of the world ; and appre- 
hended all religion to be merely lucrative and 
earthly.* He was desirous to believe it such ; 
hence in the ale-house, at the markets, and in 
the little club of his village-neighbours, he fre- 
quently delivered his sentiments with freedom, 
wheii God and his priests were sure to be treat- 
ed with little or no respect. 

Agricola continued his course of life for some 
years ; only as his money increased, so increas- 
ed his heart's attachment to it ;f and (as the 
world was fond to say) his regard to probity di- 
minished as his possessions were multiplied. 
The widows and the poor complained of his ra- 
pacity and extortion ; the fields spoke his covet- 
ousness ; for he encroached upon his neigh- 
bours' lands, and the ancient boundaries were 
rendered disputable. The markets were said to 
be forestalled, and his abundance became the 
source of oppression to the poorer farmer : he 

* Alas ! how many endeavour only to make a gain of godli- 
ness, and fellow Jesus, merely for the loaves and fishes. 

•f It is frequently observed, and too often verified, the more 
we have, the more we want, 



125 

wished to stand alone.; and beheld with a male- 
volent eye, the flocks, the herds, and the crops 
of others — He grew surly, proud, and insolent: 
vainly imagining that his wealth gave him an im- 
portance, and a right to tyrannize over his infe- 
rior neighbours.^ My connections with him 
afforded me an opportunity often to remonstrate : 
he sometimes heard and promised fair, but he 
heard more frequently with impatience, and 
would have spoken his dislike, if worldly mo- 
tives had not compelled him to silence. 

Happy had it been for him, if he had heard, 
regarded, and been wise. Happy for him if he 
had trusted less to that " hereafter," which ne- 
ver came ! For as last summer he attended his 
reapers in the field, suddenly the heavens grew 
black with clouds; the sun withdrew his light; 
the air seemed to stagnate with intolerable fer- 
vour ; the lightning flashed with unremitting 
fury ; vast peals of thunder burst fearfully 



* Wealth may naturally claim some degree of homage and 
respect from the sons and daughters of poverty and indigence,, 
but never should (though it too often does) create in the pos- 
sessors of it, pride, or self-importance, 

-L 2 



126 

around ; there was no place to fly unto ; they 
were exposed to all the terrors of the storm. 
Agricola stood aghast — when behold, the thun- 
der-bolt of Omnipotence (a sheet of living flame 
disclosing itself over his head) in a moment 
struck him a blackened corpse to the ground! 

Oh horrible ! most horrible ! thus to be sent 
to our final account 1 — And shall not the death 
of Agricola instruct us ? Wilt thou, O man, af« 
ter such an admonition, persevere in forge tful- 
ness of duty and attachment to the world 1 — 
canst thou secure thyself from so deplorable an 
end ? — No ! thou canst not ; thou canst not pro- 
-mise to thyself one future moment ! — Death lies 
concealed in every path we tread, and his stroke 
will ever be sudden and dreadful, in proportion 
to the degree of our forgetfulness of that stroke, 
and our attachment to the vain delights, or pos- 
sessions of the world. 



CHAP. X. 

Me who liveth in Pleasure, is dead while he Ifaeth. 1 Tim. v. 6\ 

IT gives the author of these Reflections 
singular pleasure to have the approbation of a 
lady, so justly admired for her taste as Lady 

. He esteems it a particular favour 

that she condescends to make a request to him, 
which he most readily grants, as assured, that 
the letter which she desires him to admit, will 
not only be pleasing, but highly instructive to 
his serious readers. The death of Mr. Nash 
drew her thoughts to it, and therefore she is 
pleased to inform me, she copied it out for the 
benefit of the public : it was sent by a person of 
known worth and piety, some years since, to that 
son of pleasure. — What effect it had, his future 
life, alas ! did but too plainly shew ! 

TO RICHARD NASH, ESQ. AT BATH, 

SIR, 

THIS comes from your sincere friend, and 
one that has your best interest deeply at heart. 
It comes on a design altogether important, and 



128 

of no less consequence than your everlasting 
happiness : so that it may justly challenge your 
careful regard. It is not to upbraid or reproach, 
much less to triumph and insult over your mis- 
conduct : — no, it is pure benevolence, it is dis- 
interested good will prompts me to write ; so 
that I hope I shall not raise your resentment. 
However, be the issue what it will, I cannot bear 
to see you walk in the paths which lead to death, 
without warning you of your danger, without 
sounding in your ears the awful admonition, 
" Return and live : — For why will you die ?" I 
beg of you to consider whether you do or not, 
in some measure, resemble those unhappy chil- 
dren of Eli, whom, though they were famous in 
their generation, and men of renown, yet ven- 
geance suffered not to live. For my part, I may 
safely use the expostulation of the old priest : — 
" Why do you such things? for I hear of your 
evil doings by all this people. Nay, my brother, 
for it is no good report that I hear : you make the 
Lord's people to transgress/' I have long ob- 
served and pitied you ; and a most melancholy 
spectacle I lately beheld, made me resolve to 
caution you, lest you also should come into the 
same condemnation. 



129 

I was not long since called to visit a poor 
gentleman, ere while of the most robust body 5 
and of the gayest temper I ever knew. But 
when I visited him, oh how was the glory de- 
parted from him I I found him no more that 
sprightly, and vivacious son of joy, which he 
used to be ; but languishing, pining away, and 
withering under the chastising hand of God, 
His limbs feeble and trembling; his countenance 
forlorn and ghastly ;* and the little breath he 
had left, sobbed out in sorrowful sighs I His 
body hastening apace to the dust, to lodge in the 
silent grave, — the land of darkness and desola- 
tion. His soul just going to God who gave it;f 
to enter upon an unchangeable and eternal state. 

When I was come into his chamber, and had 
seated myself on his bed, he first cast a most 
wishful look upon me, and then began as well as 
he was able to speak— " Oh that I had been 
wise, that I had known this, that I had consider^ 

ed my latter end ! Ah ! Mr. , Death is 

knocking at my door : in a few hours more I 
shall draw my last gasp ; and then comes judg- 

* psal, cxvii. % f Eccles. xii. 7 



130 

merit, the tremendous judgment!* — How shall 
I appear, unprepared as I am, before the all- 
knowing and omnipotent God ! How shall I en- 
dure the day of his coming?" 

When I mentioned, among many other things, 
that holy religion which he had formerly so 
slightly esteemed, he replied (with a hasty 
eagerness) " Oh that religion is the only thing 
I now long for.f I have not words to tell you 
how highly I value it ; I would gladly part with 
all my estate, large as it is, or a world, to have 
lived in the practice of it. Now my benighted 
eyes are enlightened, I clearly discern the things 
that are excellent. 

u What is there in the place whither I am go- 
ing, but God ? or what is there to be desired on 
earth, but religion ?" — But if this God should 
restore you to health, said I, think you that you 
should alter your former course ?« — " I call hea- 

* Eccl. xii. 14. 

f 'Tis this alone, 

Amidst life's pains, abasements, emptiness, 
The soul can cherish, elevate and fill. 



131 

ven and earth to witness/ 5 said he, " I would 
labour for holiness as I shall soon labour for life. 
As for riches and pleasures, and the applauses 
of men, I account them as dross and dung, no 
more to my happiness than the feathers that lie 
on the floor. 

" Oh, if the righteous Judge would try me 
once more ; if he would but reprieve and spare 
me a little longer— in what a spirit would I 
spend the remainder of my days ? I would 
know no other business, aim at no other end, 
than perfecting myself in holiness. Whatever 
contributed to that, every means of grace ; every 
opportunity of spiritual improvement, should be 
dearer to me than thousands of gold and silver 
■ — But alas, why do I amuse myself with fond 
imaginations ? The best resolutions are now in- 
significant, because they are too late. The day 
in which I should have worked is over and gone, 
and I see a sad, horrible night approaching, 
bringing with it the blackness of darkness for 
ever. Heretofore (woe is me!) when God call- 
ed, I refused ; when he invited, I was one of 
them that made excuse.— Now, therefore, I re- 
ceive the reward of my deeds ; fearfulness and 



132 

trembling are come upon me : I smart, I am in 
sore anguish zilready; and yet this is but the be- 
ginning of sorrows! — It doth not yet appear 
what I shall be — but sure I shall be ruined, un- 
done, and destroyed with an everlasting destruc- 
tion I" 

This sad scene I saw with my eyes ; these 
words, and many more equally affecting, I heard 
with my ears ; and soon after attended the un- 
happy gentleman to his tomb. The almost 
breathless skeleton spoke in such an accent, and 
with so much earnestness, that I could not easily 
forget him or his w^ords. And as I was musing 
upon this sorrowful subject, I remembered Mr. 
Nash; I remembered you, sir — For I discerned 
too near an agreement and correspondence be- 
tween yourself and the deceased. " They are 
alike," said I, u in their ways, and what shall 
hinder them from being alike in their end ? The 
course of their actions was equally full of sin and 
folly, and why should not the period of them be 
equally full of horror and distress ? I am griev- 
ously afraid for the survivor, lest as he lives the 
life, so he should die the death of this wretched 
man, and his latter end should be like his," 



133 

For this cause, therefore, I take my pen to ad- 
vise — to admonish — nay, to request of you to 
repent while you have an opportunity, if haply 
you may find grace and forgiveness. Yet a mo- 
ment, and you may die ; yet a little while, and 
you must die : — And will you go down with in- 
famy and despair to the grave, rather than de- 
part in peace, and with hopes full of immor- 
tality ? 

But I must tell you, sir, with the utmost free- 
dom, that your present behaviour is not the way 
to reconcile yourself to God* You are so far 
from making atonement to offended justice, that 
you are aggravating the future account, and 
heaping up an increase of wrath against the day 
of wrath. For what say the scriptures ? those 
books, Avhich at the consummation of all things, 
the Ancient of days shall open, and by which 
you shall be judged — What say those sacred vo- 
lumes ? They testify and declare to every soul 
of man, — " That whoso liveth in pleasure, is 
dead while he liveth."* So that while you roll 
on in a continued circle of sensual delights and^ 

* 1 Tim. v. 6. 

M 



134 

vain entertainments, you are dead to all the pur- 
poses of piety and virtue. 

Think, sir, I conjure you, think upon this be- 
fore it is too late, if you have any inclination to 
escape the fire that will never be quenched. 
Would you be rescued from the just vengeance 
of Almighty God? Would you be delivered 
from weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth? 
Sure you would 1 But you may be certain that 
will never be done by amusements, which, at 
the best, are trifling and impertinent ; and there- 
fore if for no other reason, foolish and sinful. It 
is by seriousness ; it is by retirement and self- 
examination, you must accomplish this great 
and desirable deliverance.* You must not ap- 
pear at the head of every silly diversion, but en- 
ter into your closet, and shut the door: and 
commune with your own heart, and search out 
your own spirit. The pride of life, and all su- 
perfluity oi naughtiness must be put away. You 
must make haste, and delay not the time to keep 

* It is good for every rational creature upon earth, frequently 
and seiv >usly to ask himself, What am I ? what was I created 
for ? and whither am I going: ? 



135 

(and with all your might too) all God's holy 
commandments. Always remembering that 
mighty sinners must be mightily penitent ; or 
else be mightily tormented. 

Your example, and your projects have been 
extremely prejudicial, I wish I could not say fa- 
tal and destructive to many: for this, there is no 
amends but an alteration in your conduct, as sig- 
nal and remarkable as your person and name. 

If you do not by this method remedy in some 
degree the evils which you have sent abroad, 
and prevent the mischievous consequences which 
may ensue, — wretched will you be, yea, wretch- 
ed to all eternity. The blood of souls will be 
laid to your charge ; God's jealousy, like a con- 
suming flame, will smoke against you ; as you 
5 T ourself will see in that day, when the mountains 
shall quake, and the hills melt, and the earth be 
burnt up at his tremendous presence. 

Once more, then, I exhort you as a friend ; I 
beseech you as a brother; I charge you as a mes- 
senger sent from the great God, in his most so- 
lemn words : — " Cast away from you your trans% 



136 

gressions; make you a new heart and a new spi- 
rit ; so iniquity shall not be your ruin."* 

Perhaps you may be disposed to contemn this, 
and its serious purport ; or to recommend it to 
your companions as a fit subject for raillery, — But 
let me tell you before hand, that for this, as well 
as for many other things, God will bring you 
into judgment.! He sees me now I write : he 
will observe you while you read. He notes 
down my words in his book ; he will also note 
down your consequent procedure. So that, not 
upon me, but upon your own self, will the neg- 
lecting or despising my friendly admonition 
turn. " If thou be wise, thou shalt be wise for 
thyself; if thou scornest, thou alone shalt bear 
it." 

With hearty good wishes for your welfare, I 
remain, sir, your unknown friend,! &c. 

* Ezek, xvii. 30, 31. f Ecci. xi. 9, 

J The writer of these Reflections thought himself obliged to 
retain this letter (which, however, he has taken the liberty to 
correct in a few places) not only out of respect to the lady who 
communicated it, but because it was published in the Chris- 



13? 

tian's Magazine, in the regular course of the Reflections. He 
finds it too in a life of Mr. Nash, lately published, and was 
therefore the rather inclined to retain it, and as that biographer 
seems to think it too severe, and is inclined to palliate a life of 
utter dissipation, which certainly merited the severest stric- 
tures. 

No man living can have a higher regard for benevolence and 
humanity than the writer of these lines : but he thinks benevo- 
lence to the soul of a much higher nature than that of the 
body ; and would be far from leading those who are treading 
the insidious paths of pleasure with too eager delight, into de- 
lusive and dangerous opinions, as if tenderness of heart, and 
acts of charity, could atone for every other deficiency. Dissi- 
pated and fond of pleasure as we are, little need is there to en- 
. courage men in so false a pursuit. It is hoped, therefore, that 
the writer of Nash's life (who he is, I know not) in a future 
edition, would strike out that offensive and hurtful passage, 
which every sincere Christian must disapprove, wherein he 
asserts, — " That there was nothing criminal in his (Nash's) 
conduct : — that he was a harmless creature, whose greatest 
vice was vanity, — and that scarce a single action of his life, ex- 
cept one, deserves the asperity of reproach." And this is said 
of a man, who, with a heart of exquisite humanity, and which 
might have been moulded into the noblest form, — was yet, 
through life, a gamester professed, and an encourager of ille- 
gal gambling ! — a follower of pleasure all his days, and a per- 
petual dissipater ! — and whose conversation was made up of 
trifling, of falsehood, and of immorality ! 

In matters which concern the souls of men, let us be espe- 
cially careful ; for fatal, indeed, may it be to betray them into 
M 2 



13a 

wrong opinions. In other respects we will unite to applaud Mr. 
Nash, and will readily join his panegyrists ; — we will be thank- 
ful to him for the improvements he has made at Bath, by his 
means the most elegant and pleasing- of all public places ; and 
we will be thankful to the editor of his life, for the amusement 
and satisfaction we have received from so well wrote and enter- 
taining a performance. 



CHAP. XL 



So mayst thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop 

Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease 

Gather'd, not harshly pluck'd, for Death mature. 

This is old age ; but then thou must outlive 

Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change 

To withered, weak, and gray ; thy senses then 

Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forego, 

To what thou hast : and for the air of youth 

Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign 

A melancholy damp of cold and dry, 

To weigh thy spirits down ; and last, consume 

The balm of health. . Miltox, 

IN our two foregoing chapters, we have 
two very different and alarming characters be- 
fore us ; each sufficient to shew us the vanity of 



139 

this life, and to awaken in &uv souls an earnest 
attention to future concerns. The one, cut off 
by a sudden blast from heaven in the full bloom 
of days, and the vigour of health ; the other, 
dragging through a length of wearisome years a 
feeble existence,*" to the last scene of all. 

Which ends our strange, eventful history, 

To second childishness, and mere oblivion, 

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing,f 

Old age is honourable, and hath its advan- 
tages. — But might I presume, Oh! thou Al- 
mighty and All-wise ! short-sighted as I am, 
and incapable at the best to distinguish my real 
good from evil, might I presume to judge, or to 
ask any thing of thee respecting my future state 
in this poor and perishing world, I would hum- 
bly say, " Suffer me not to bear the load of life 
when every faculty is benumbed, when every 
power of enjoyment is past ; when oblivion 
darkens the memory, and all the senses seem 

* Mr. Nash died at Bath in February, 1761, aged 8S. "The 
man was sunk long before," as one expresses it, tf in the weak- 
ness and infirmities of exhausted nature," 

t Shakespeare. 



140 

wearied and sealed up; when the power of being 
useful to mankind is totally removed ; nay, when 
the power of pleasing is no more, and we become 
a burden even to our nearest friends." 

See the trembling, palsied Hassan ! unable to 
move ; scarce able to utter intelligible sounds ; 
weak in his sight, imperfect in hearing; oppress- 
ed with pains ; forgotten by the world ; forsaken 
by all; and attended only by a distant relation, 
whom interest alone keeps with him, impatient 
for his departure, and anxious to possess his 
wealth. Yet though thus miserable, despised, 
forsaken, and forgotten ; Hassan loves the world ; 
clings faster to it, the more it shrinks from his 
embraces; detests the thoughts of death; and 
fhinks and talks of nothing with satisfaction, but 
the delusive mammon of unrighteousness.* Oh, 
what an old age is this ! How wretched an issue 
of a long and useless life ! — Fourscore years 
have been passed to no end, but the procuring 
of wealth. Fourscore years are over; the wealth 
is procured ; the man is about to die, and he 
hath neither child nor friend to inherit it ! He 

* Lukexvi.9, 11. 



141 

hath no power to enjoy it himself; he is dead 
while he liveth : yet his affections are placed — 
not on things above, — but ah, sad reverse I — on 
things below. Can the world produce any ob- 
ject more pitiable or more contemptible than 
Hassan ? 

Vigorous old age, the winter of an useful, vir- 
tuous life, is as much to be desired, as the con- 
trary is to be deprecated. Crowned with vic- 
tory over the inferior passions, girt round with 
useful and experimental knowledge, leaning on 
the staff" of prudence, courage,^ and resolution, 
the old man becomes a blessing to society ; we 

* Bishop Hall gives us an instance of courage in an old plain 
man in the country : some thieves broke into his solitary dwell- 
ings taking advantage of the absence of his family, and finding 
m sitting alone by his fire-side, they fell violently upon him ; 
when one of them fixing his dagger to the old man's heart, 
swore that he would presently kill him, if he did not instantly 
deliver to them that money which they knew he had lately re- 
ceived. The old man, looking boldly into the face of the villain, 
replied with an undaunted courage ; " Nay, if I were killed by 
thee, I have lived long enough ; but I tell thee, son, unless 
thou mend thy manners, thou wilt never live t,o see half my 
days." 



142 

rise up to him with reverence, and rejoice to do 
him honour. 

Such is the hoary Sophron ; we behold him 
with a degree of awe and veneration ; we con- 
sult him with confidence ; and to follow his ad- 
vice is to act wisely and consistently. Sophron 
filled a very busy sphere of life, and maintained 
a high reputation lor integrity, prudence, and 
piety. He retreated in proper season from the 
stage, and now dedicates his time to the great 
business of self-recollection. Yet is he no abso- 
lute hermit nor recluse ; nor does he so live to 
himself as to forget the concerns of others; mild 
and affable, he delights in the conversation of his 
friends, and pleasingly instructs, while scarce 
seeming to instruct; benevolent and humane, he 
listens to the voice of affliction, and is always the 
ready friend of the poor and the oppressed, Hap- 
py Sophron ! he has not lived in vain ; his youth 
w T as active ; his old age is healthful, placid, and 
serene. Resigned to the Sovereign Disposer's 
will, he w T aits contentedly for his approaching 
change, and looks with joy to his journey's end ; 
looks with joy to that welcome harbour, wherein 



143 

his weather-beaten vessel must shortly cast 
anchor !* when his youth shall be renewed like 
unto the eagle's, and he shall live with God in 
perfect felicity for ever.f 

If men will not look forward, nor prepare for 
eternity, we cannot expect they should prepare 
for old age ; but surely, if we wish or desire to 
live long, — and it is to be feared this is too much 
the wish of human hearts, — we should endea- 
vour to provide for the winter of life, by laying 
up such a store of true wisdom and experience, 
as may render the close of it comfortable ; or at 
least soften the many unavoidable difficulties of 
age. 

* With joy the sailor, long" by tempests toss'd, 
Spreads all his canvass for the wish'd for coast ; 
With joy the hind, his daily labour done, 
Sees the broad shadows and the setting sun ; 
With joy the slave, worn out with tedious woes^ 
Beholds the land which liberty bestows ; 
So death with joy my feeble voice shall greet, 
My hand shall beckon and my wish shall meet. 

Axon* 

f 1 Thess. iv. 17. 



144 

Intemperance will in the general prevent our 
long continuance here below ; as it certainly is 
the source of many pains and evils."^ Vice and 
immorality will render our old age despicable to 
others and afflicting to ourselves ;f and make us 
the more uneasy to quit the stage of life, as we 
draw nearer the solemn change. So that the 
grand rule to attain a happy old age, as well as a 
happy death, is to " live well .:" — to live, as be- 
cometh those who bear the name of Christians, 
and profess to be the disciples and followers of 
Christ.J 

* Old Adam, the faithful servant, in Shakespeare, speaks 
thus: 

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty, 
For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; 
Nor did I with unbashful forehead woo 
The means of weakness and debility : 
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
Frosty, but kindly. — •— 

f As virtue is its own reward, so vice is generally its own 
punishment. 

| Well might a good man say, not long since, respecting 
true Christians, « The children of God are best known hj 
their family likeness." 



145 

Uncertain as is the tenure of human life, this 
rule, one would conceive, should be universally 
regarded. For how few, how very few of the 
myriads of mortals, who tread this earth, arrive 
at old age, or see the present boundary of human 
life, the " seventieth year !"# What numbers 
before that, are consigned to a state eternal and 
unalterable ! alarming thought ! — And canst thou, 
oh reader, promise thyself this length of days ? 
Knowest thou how long thy line shall run? 
knowest thou when the tremendous Judge shall 
call, and thou must appear before his impartial 
tribunal? Alas, human fate is mantled in thick 
darkness ! But eternity— who like Agricola, 
would be utterly unprepared for it, since the call 
may come instantly ? and then how terrible will 
be the consequences 1 

But Agricola's fate was peculiar. — So thought 
his neighbour Haustulus. He saw the singed 
corpse of Agricola borne from the field ; shook 
his head, declared the stroke a judgment from 
heaven, and enlarged greatly on the demerits of 

* Psal. xc. 10, 

N 



146 

the deceased :* — yet he forgot himself. Haus- 
tulus was the pride of the village where he lived: 
young, healthful, robust: the maidens beheld 
him with pleasure ; the young men heard of his 
perfections with envy. A lively good-nature re* 
commended him universally ; and relying on the 
strength of his constitution, he was the first and 
last at every merriment, at every wake, at every 
scene of rural pleasantry and joy. 

Drinking too much at one of these meetings, 
and staying too late from home, he caught a 
cold ; a violent fever ensued ; he became deli- 
rious ; all hopes in a few days were lost ; and he, 
who had never employed one serious hour about 
his soul ; thus plunged, — ah hapless improvi- 
dent — into an everlasting state ! — Was his fate 
peculiar? was his death sudden? — It is a death 
— it is a fate every day exemplified — And would 
you choose to share such a fate ; to die such a 
death? Surely no: then be careful not to lead 

* De mortuis nil nisi bonum, is the language of humanity 
and benevolence, founded on that well known proverb, huma- 
num est errare. 



147 

such a life. For there are innumerable outlets 
from this present scene : lightnings and fevers 
are not the only instruments in the hand of God : 
the meanest and most inconsiderable agent is 
all -sufficient with him to stop the throbbing 
heart,* and to draw the veil of death over the 
closing eyes. 



CHAP. XIX. 

Woe then apart (if woe apart can be 
From mortal man) and fortune at our nod j 
The gay, rich, great, triumphant and august, 
What are they? the most happy (strange to say!) 
Convince me most of human misery. 

Young. 

THOUGH death levels all distinctions, 
and pays no more deference to the crown, than 
to the unnoticed head of the meanest peasant ; 

* Know, thoughtless man, when 'tis thy Maker's will, 
A fly, a grape-stone, or a hair may kill. 

Rural Christian 



148 

yet the great seem willing to preserve, even in 
death, that distinction which they have shared in 
life ; and therefore refuse to mix their mortal 
dust with common and inferior clay ! There 
may be a propriety in this ; subordination is ab- 
solutely necessary : and it may be decent, that 
they who have been elevated in life, should at 
the close of it, still keep up their due dignity and 
distinction. But this will not prevent us from 
meditating in the vault of the nobles, where 
surely we shall find ample matter for contempla- 
tion. 

By the side of the church, where first I v/as 
led into these reflections, such a vault is found. 
Let me descend into the solemn and sacred re- 
cess ! — How awful ! — As I tread slowly down 
the stone steps, which lead into it, a melancholy 
murmur seems to echo through the silent man- 
sion; the moon just throws in a faint light, suf- 
ficient for me to discern the contents (though 
indeed no stranger to them) and all my soul 
thrills with an anxious dread and horror.^ — 
Whence this strange, this uncommon fear upon 

* See Hervev's Meditations among the Tombs 



149 

us, when conversing with the deceased i Help- 
less dust and ashes as they are, we know they 
cannot harm or injure us. Nay, and were it 
possible for any of them to appear to us, surely 
it would be most delightful as well as most ac- 
ceptable to hear from them some of the wonders 
of that unknown world, which is at once so in- 
teresting and so important. 

But ah ! — no notices they give, 
Nor tell us where, or how they live : 
Though conscious while with us below, 
How much themselves desir'd to know ! 
As if bound up by solemn fate 
To keep this secret of their state ; 
To tell their joys or pains to none, 
That man might live by faith alone* 

Oh, come hither ye sons of ambition, ye chil- 
dren of pride ; descend a while from the lofty 
summit whereon you stand, and look disdain on 
all beneath you ; oh come, and pass a few silent 
minutes with me in this lonely vault which 
boasts the most noble inhabitants ; and pride 
will no more dwell in your eyes, or vanity rise 
in your hearts,* 

* Ye proud, ambitious, wealthy, young and gay, 
Who drink the spirit of the golden day, 
N 2 



150 

Here are the great and the gay ; the young 
and the brilliant; the honourable and the lovely, 
placed in no mean order or elegance together. 
Their coffins are decorated with velvet and with 
silver ; but ah, their contents are only like vul- 
gar dust. — There lies the noble Altamont ; no 
wonder the remembrance of him first strikes 
every soul which descends into this vault, and 
was no stranger to his character. An able writer^ 
hath given us a striking account of his last mo- 
ments : let us first recollect this, and then make 
our reflections upon it. 

" I am about to represent unto you, 5 ' says he, 
" the last hours of a person of high birth ; and 
high spirit ; of great parts, and strong passions ; 
every way accomplished, not least in iniquity. 
His unkind treatment was the death of a most 
amiable wife, and his great extravagance, in ef- 
fect, disinherited his only child. 



■■} 



And triumph in existence, come with me, 
And in the mouldering corpse your picture see, 
What you and all must soon or later be. 

Solitary Walks^ 

Dr. Young, in his Centaur not Fabulous'. 



loi 

" The sad evening before the death of that 
noble youth, I was with him. No one was 
there, but his physician and an intimate friend 
whom he loved, and whom he had ruined. At 
my coming in, he said : 

i You, and the physician, are come too late. — 
I have neither life, nor hope.^ You both aim at 
miracles. You would raise the dead.' 

' Heaven,' I said, c was merciful.' 

* Or I could not have been thus guilty. What 
has it not done to Jbless and to save me? — I 
have been too strong for Omnipotence ! — I have 
pluck'd down ruin.' 

" I said, i The blessed Redeemer — ' 

' Hold ! hold ! you wound me ! — That is the 
rock on which I split. — I denied his name.'f 

* It is declared in the oracles of divine truth, that « the 
wicked is driven away in his wickedness, but the righteous 
hath hope in his death," Prov. xiv. 32. hence learn the happiness 
of the one, and the misery of the other. 

f They who deny Christ on earth, he will deny in heave%; 
Matt. x. 53r 



152 

" Refusing to hear any thing from me, or to 
take any thing from the physician, he lay siient, 
as far as sudden darts of pain would permit, till 
the clock struck. Then with vehemence he ex- 
claimed — 

6 Oh time ! — time I — It is fit thou shouldst thus 
strike thy murderer to the heart. — How art thou 
fled for ever I — A. month! — Oh for a single 
week I I ask not for years !* though an age 
were too little for the much I have to do.' 

" On my saying, we could not do too much : 
that heaven was a blessed place — 

' So much the worse. — 5 Tis lost I ? Tis lost! 
Heaven is to me the severest part of hell !' 

" Soon after, I proposed prayer. 

* Dr. Young may well say, 

Buy no moment but in purchase of its worth, 
And what its worth ? ask death -beds, they can tell ; 
A moment we may wish when worlds 
Want wealth to buy 

Night Thoughts. 



153 

c Pray you that can ; I never prayed, I cannot 
pfay. — Nor need I. Is not Heaven on my side 
already ? It closes with my conscience. Its se- 
verest strokes but second my own. 5 

" His friend being much touched, even to 
tears, at this (who could forbear? I could not) 
with a most affectionate look, he said : 

< Keep those tears for thyself. I have undone 
thee. — Dost weep for me ? That's cruel. What 
can pain me more ! — ' 

" Here his friend, too much affected, would 
have left him. 

* No, stay, thou still mayst hope ; therefore 
hear me : how madly have I talked ! how madly 
hast thou listened and believed 1 But look on my 
present state as a full answer to thee and to my- 
self. This body is all weakness and pain ; but 
my soul, as if strung up by torment to greater 
strength and spirit, is full powerful to reason ; 
full mighty to suffer. And that, which thus tri- 
umphs within the jaws of mortality, is doubtless 



154 

immortal.* And as for a Deity, nothing less 
than an Almighty could inflict what I feel.' 

" I was about to congratulate this passive, in- 
voluntary confessor, on his asserting the two 
prime articles of his creed, extorted by the rack 
of nature ; when he thus very passionately ex- 
claimed — 

4 No, no ! let me speak on. I have not long 
to speak. — My much-injured friend! my soul as 
my body lies in ruins ; in scattered fragments of 
broken thought. Remorse for the past throws 
my thoughts on the future. Worse dread of the 
future strikes it back on the past -, I turn and 
turn, and find no ray. Didst thou feel half the 
mountain that is upon me, thou wouldst struggle 
with the martyr for his stake, and bless heaven 
for the flames ; — that is not an everlasting flame ; 
that is not an unquenchable fire.' 

. " How were we struck ! — yet soon after, still 
more. With what an eye of distraction, with 
what a face of despair, he cried out — 

* This is no small proof or argument in favour of the soul's 
immortalitv. 



155 

' My principles have poisoned my friend ; my 
extravagance has beggared my boy ; my unkind- 
ness has murdered my wife ! And is there ano- 
ther hell?— -Oh ! thou blasphemed, yet most in- 
dulgent Lord God ! hell itself is a refuge, if it 
hides me from thy frown.' 

" Soon after, his understanding failed. His 
terrified imagination uttered horrors not to be 
repeated, or even forgot. And ere the sun 
(which I hope has seen few like him) arose, the 
gay, young, noble, ingenious, accomplished, and 
most wretched Altamont expired."* 



* Let the young", wealthy, gay, and inconsiderate votaries of 
pleasure and dissipation, learn from the latter moments of the 
wretched Altamont (who is supposed by some to intend the 
late Lord Bolinghroke) the folly of living unmindful of ap- 
proaching death, and be convinced of the truth of that common 
proverb, " they who swim in sin, shall sink in sorrow." 



CHAP. xnr. 

Adorn'd with all that heav'n or earth could give 
To make her amiable———' — 

Milto>;. 

HOW doubly dreadful is death, when it 
hurries away an affrighted and unprepared soul 
from all the splendour and pomp of earthly 
greatness ; from noble mansions ; elegant gar- 
dens ; beautiful and extensive parks ; numerous 
attendants ; large possessions ; and all the bright 
circle of sublunary grandeur ! 

" And must I leave these ? Curse upon my 
fate; must I leave all these?" said the noble 
Publio, as, stretched upon the bed of disease, he 
lay struggling with unconquerable pain, like a 
wild bull in the net ; impatient and restless un- 
der the hand of Omnipotence ; as the untamed 
lion, in the toils of the Lybian hunter. 

Yes, Publio, thou must leave all these ; and, 
proud and vain as thou hast been of thy titles 
and honours; as much elevated as thou hast 



157 

thought thyself above thy fellow mortals, thou 
must now at length experience that death levels 
all distinctions, and strikes at thee with as cruel 
unconcern as he strikes at the meanest peasant 
who toils in the neighbouring fields.^ Why will 
men forget this obvious truth ? Surely if the rich 
and noble would bear it in mind, it would be a 
powerful check against every motion of pride, 
and would instantly crush the least appearance 
of elation. 

If we look to this world only, how superior 
are the advantages which the great and wealthy 
enjoy, how infinitely superior to those which the 
poor and mean possess? But if we look beyond 
the present scene, nay, if we look only on the 
parting moment, how great advantages have the 
serious poor over the thoughtless rich ! Poverty 
denies to men the enjoyment of almost every 
thing which the wealthy call convenient and 
comfortable ; much more of what they call ele- 
gant and pleasurable. But poverty disengages 



* Mors sequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas. 
Regumque turres. 



158 






the affections from this transitory scene, and de- 
priving men of the enjoyment, renders them 
more indifferent to their continuance in the 
world. He who has nothing to leave behind 
him, must be supposed to quit the stage with in- 
finite less regret, than he who is surrounded 
with every thing that can elevate the desires, or 
delight the heart of man.* Now if we were 
steady to our Christian principles, and fixed in 
our pursuits of the blessings of eternity, doubt- 
less, in this view, poverty would be very far 
from being esteemed an evil. 

But let us not conceal the truth ; there is of- 
ten more of envy and chagrin in our strictures 
on wealth and greatness, than a real contempt of 
these idols, or a true Christian renunciation 
of them. And it is to be feared, that our re- 
marks respecting their possessors, are frequently 
stretched beyond the line of truth. It is a point, 
of which long experience and close observation 
have left me no room to doubt, that the great 



* Hence the rich may learn not to despise the poor, while 
the poor are taught not to envy or covet the riches of the afflu- 
ent, the honours of the nobles, or possessions of the great. 



159 

are not the happy: I mean, that true felicity, 
and an exalted state, have no natural and neces- 
sary connection.^ Yet am I equally satisfied 
that the poor are not happy. If the disturbing, 
anxious, and higher passions, molest the repose 
of the former, the chagrining and vexatious pas- 
sions sufficiently ruffle the quiet of the latter. In 
great goodness and condescension to his crea- 
tures, the all-wise disposer of all things hath 
made happiness peculiar to no state, and attain- 
able in all ; it is a plant which will thrive in 
every soil, though some may be more kindly to 
it than others. I have seen it blooming in all 
the verdure of the most flourishing palm-tree, in 
the splendid palace of the noble : I have seen it 
fresh, beautiful, and fragrant, in the lonely dwell- 
ing of the peaceful and contented cottager. For 
the true Christian is the happy man; and he who 
is indeed a Christian, will find peace and joy, 
whether in a cottage or a palace. 

* Remember, man, the universal Cause 
Acts not by partial, but by gen'ral laws; 
And makes what happiness we justly call, 
Subsist not in the good of one, but all. 

Pope, 



160 

What could have deprived the gay, the young, 
the noble, the ingenuous, and most accomplish- 
ed Altamont, of happiness superlatively pleas- 
ing? Had he but known and practised the pre- 
cepts of that divine religion, whose excellence is 
sufficiently marked by the name of him who re- 
vealed it, — Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of God. 
Every earthly bliss croucled around the noble 
young man, sedulous to present themselves, and 
anxious to offer their sweets to his acceptance. 
Elegant mansions, highly furnished with all that 
art could bestow, were ready provided for him ; 
parks, beautified with the finest lawns and most 
extensive prospects, stretched themselves around 
him; ample estates were in his possession, suf- 
ficient to supply every necessity, and sufficient 
for calls of magnificence, liberality, and charity ; 
and heaven had blessed him with a mind capa- 
cious of the largest enjoyments, and with sense 
equal to the most elegant refinements, Happy 
peculiarity — -heaven had blessed him also with 
an amiable consort, whose virtuous endearments 
were themselves sufficient to have constituted 
solid bliss ; and in whose love, scarce a man ex- 
ists, who would not have thought himself crown- 
ed with his heart's full content. 



161 

Ah ! wretched Altamont, — the want of that 
Christian virtue which alone will felicitate, rob- 
bed thee of the enjoyment of all these blessings, 
and brought thee in early youth to an untimely 
death ; thy soul undone, thy fortune ruined, thy 
wife broken-hearted, and thy orphans beggar- 
ed ! — ah vain and worthless nobility i what avail- 
ed to thy miserable remains, the nodding plumes 
and the escutcheoned hearse, with all the pomp 
of funeral solemnity ! Here thou liest moulder- 
ing in the velvet-clad coffin ; and I, so much be- 
neath thee in station, can weep thy sad fate, 
and commiserate thee, thou fallen son of great- 
ness ! 

Oh ye nobles of the earth, consider and be 
wise. Nobility, without virtue, is but a polish- 
ed shaft, more quick and keen to destroy; adorn- 
ed with Christian faith, it is a coronet of gold, 
graceful and honourable to the brow;^ it will 
dignify you in time, and add honour to your 
greatest honours in eternity, 

* Greatness alone in virtue's understood; 
None's truly great, but he who's truly good; 



162 

So thought the incomparable lady, whose sad 
relics I view with joy ; and am transported to 
find in this doleful vault an inscription like the 
following, over her honoured remains. Let us 
peruse it, and leave it to our reader's reflec- 
tions. 

" Here rests the body of Mary, Countess oi 
9 &c. — who departed this life, &c. 



whom it were unpardonable to lay down in si- 
lence, and of whom it is difficult to speak with 
justice. For her just character will look like 
flattery, and the least abatement of it is an injury 
to her memory."^" 

In every condition of life she was a pattern to 
her sex; appeared mistress of those peculiar 
qualities, which were requisite to conduct her 
through it with honour, and never failed to ex- 
ert them in their proper seasons, to the utmost 
advantage. 

She was modest without affectation, easy 
without levity, and reserved without pride. She 

* Praises on tombs are titles vainly spent, 
A man's good name is his best monument. 



163 

knew how to stoop without sinking, and to gain 
people's affections without lessening their re- 
gard. 

She was careful without anxiety, frugal with- 
out parsimony; not at all fond of the superfluous 
trappings of greatness, yet abridged herself of 
nothing which her quality required. 

Her piety was exemplary, her charity univer- 
sal. 

She found herself a widow in the beginning of 
her life, when the temptations of honour, beauty, 
youth, and pleasure, were in their full strength ; 
yet she made them all give way to the interest 
of her family, and betook herself entirely to the 
matron's part,^ 

The education of her children engrossed all 
her care ; no charge was spared in the cultivation 
of their minds, nor any pains in the improve- 
ment of their fortunes. 



* Few widows in the present day, God knows, deserve this 
character, or strive to imitate so praiseworthy an example 



164 

In a word, she was truly wise,— truly honour- 
able, — and truly good. 

More can scarce be said ; and yet he who said 
this, knew her well, and is well assured, that he 
has said nothing which either veracity or mo- 
desty should oblige him to suppress.^ 



CHAP. XIV- 

Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ? 
What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame, 
Earth's highest stations end in « Here he lies ;" 
And " Dust to dust," concludes her noblest song. 

Young* 

FROM the vault, where rests the precious 
remains of the great and noble, I ascended into 
the church, and was immediately led to that part 
of the sacred edifice, which is dedicated to the 

* The reader may be assured of the truth of what is here 
delivered, as the character was penned by that excellent pre- 
late, Dr. Hough, formerly bishop of Worcester, 



165 

memory of these illustrious personages. What 
superb monuments ! what elaborate decorations ! 
what pompous inscriptions! what high sounding 
epitaphs ! one would imagine from a perusal of 
these, that all the sons and daughters of this no- 
ble house, like those mentioned in another sa- 
cred place, were valiant and virtuous t but alas, 
even tombs are taught to flatter and to lie. 

How strong is the desire of pre-eminence in 
the human breast? we wish to preserve it even 
in death. In some respects it may be well so to 
do :— but what vanity can be so truly contempti- 
ble, as that which assigns a large sum of money 
to the erecting a splendid monument, serving to 
perpetuate only the erector's folly and pride! let 
the truly virtuous and truly good, the friends to 
society, and the ornaments of religion, be dis- 
tinguished in death: for the rest, whatever titles 
they bear, or honours they boast, they are but 
empty names — let them be consigned to oblivion 
and to dust !* 

* If we cannot speak well of our 'deceased fellow-creatures, 
we had better be silent concerning them : " De mortuis nil 
nisi bonum," is a very suitable motto for reflections on deceased 
friends, relatives, or acquaintance. 



166 

What a foppery and false taste discovers itself 
in some of these fantastic monuments before me, 
the emblems of which it is more difficult to de- 
cipher, than the darkest shades of an allegoric 
poem I what absurdity and profaneness glare in 
others ! Methinks I am transported, by some in- 
visible power, while I gaze from a Christian 
church, into one of the heathen temples ; for 
their deities croud around me, sculptured with 
all the pride of art, while I can discern a medal- 
lion only of him to whose memory the monu- 
ment is consecrated ! — It looks as if the noble 
dead had renounced their dependance upon 
Christ and his gospel ; and returned to the 
worship of those heathen divinities, into whose 
hands they seem to commend their fame. 

But while I turn away with disgust from these 
fine, but misapplied efforts of art ; that elegantly 
simple monument strikes and delights me. It 

is the statue of the late Duke of « — : it is 

finished in the highest taste ; it affords the most 
exact resemblance of his person ; the posture is 
the most natural and easy ; proper for the place, 
serious and contemplative : — it is raised on a 
plain but beautiful pedestal ; there are no fan-* 



167 

tastic decorations ; the inscription contains no- 
thing more than the name of this worthy noble- 
man, the date of his birth and death, and the 
detail of his illustrious issue. There needs no 
more, his virtues live in the faithful memory pf 
his friends and of his country ; and time itself 
cannot obliterate the impression, which his be- 
neficence hath made on the hearts of the distress- 
ed. But could time efface these, should they be 
universally forgotten ; yet will they be had in 
everlasting remembrance before God, the eter- 
nal rewarder of those who live to do good ; who 
make the blessings vouchsafed to them by a 
kind Providence the exalted means of felicity to 
others.* Such actions in life will smooth the 
rough brow of death, and render the departure 
from honours and opulence not only easy, but 
joyful ! 

Methinks, as I stand contemplating this ani- 
mated statue, I can fancy its noble original be- 
fore me, as I have often seen him, and imagine 
I hear him thus addressing me : — " See the end 

* Would to God, such righteous persons were oftener to be 
found, among the noble and the great ones of the earth ! 



168 

of all human grandeur, and learn to think no- 
thing great in mortality ; nothing can be truly 
great which is uncertain ; nothing can be truly 
good which must shortly have an end. Ere 
while I flourished in all the verdure which hu- 
man existence can boast. High in birth, high 
in honours ; dignified with the royal favour ; 
abounding in wealth, and of consequence court- 
ed and flattered by the obsequious croud. 

" In this elevated state I forgot not myself: I 
remembered that I was a man ; that I was to 
give an account to a superior tribunal, and that 
my punishment or reward would be pronounced 
according to the improvement or abuse of the 
trust reposed in me. When therefore the so- 
lemn summons came, when I heard the alarm-* 
ing voice, ' Thou must die,' I was not con- 
founded, though impressed with awe: com- 
mending myself to the Father of mercies, I re- 
signed his earthly favours with complacency and 
thankfulness, in the joyful and animating hopes 
of a future and better state.* 

* The apostle Paul had a desire to depart, and why ? be- 
cause he was assured he should be with Christ, which he knew 



169 

" Had my conduct been the reverse of this, 
what should I have gained, or rather what should 
I not have lost? for my pomp and power could 
not have arrested the stroke of death, which 
would have pierced my heart with agony inex- 
pressible, as separating me from all things de- 
sirable here below, and removing me to a world 
where I can neither have hope or desire. — -Mine 
was a better choice : the remembrance of death 
taught me wisdom ;* for they who remember 
death, will assuredly be wise."f 



was far better, than to continue in this present world, surround- 
ed with enemies, exposed to temptations, and at a distance 
from him whom his soul loved. Phil. i. 23. 

* Death ! the great counsellor, who man inspires 
With every noble thought, and fairer deed ; 
Rich death, that realizes all my cares ; 
Toils, virtues, hopes, without it a chimera! 
Death, of all pain the period, not of joy. 
Death wounds to cure, we fall, we rise, we reign, 
Spring from our fetters, fasten in the skies; 
This king of terrors is the prince of peace. 

Night Thoughts. 

f Deut. xxxii. 29. 



iro 

This is an important truth: the abuse of life 
proceeds from the forgetfulness of death ;* when 
men fix their standards upon earth, and vainly 
propose this transitory scene as the end of their 
being, and the object of their love, what errors 
and evils are the consequences ! what fearful 
disappointments here, and what horrid punish- 
ment awaits them hereafter ! 

This was the case with the famous Cardinal 
of the noble house of Beaufort, who, much un- 
like that amiable nobleman whose character we 
have been just considering, remembered not 
that wealth and greatness were insignificant and 
unavailing to stop the hand of death ; and, that, 
gained by indirect methods, they prove, in the 
conclusion, a never dying worm to the distract- 
ed conscience. When therefore, as history in- 
forms us, he was arrested in his mad career, 
and all the terrors of death were marshalled in 
horrid array before him, thus he complained, 

* . . . The man who consecrates his hours, 

By vigorous efforts and an honest aim, 

At once he draws the sting of life and death. 

Dr. Young, 



m 

and thus vented his afflicted soul to his weeping 
friends around :* " And must I then die ? will 
not all my riches save me ? I could purchase the 
kingdom if that would prolong my life. What 1 
is there no bribing of death ? when my nephew 
the Duke of Bedford died, I thought my happi- 
ness and my authority greatly increased ; but 
the Duke of Gloucester's death raised me in 
imagination to a level even with kings ; and I 
thought of nothing but accumulating still greater 
wealth to purchase at length the triple crown I 
Alas ! how are my hopes disappointed ! — Where- 
fore, O my friends, let me earnestly beseech you 
to pray for me, and recommend my departing 
soul to God."f 

Oh, what an end was this ! what availed this 
unhappy great man, that sacrificing to his ambi- 
tion some of the most sacred duties of humani- 
ty, he died possessed of a sum, superior to what, 

* See Harpsfield's History. 

f Cardinal Beaufort was of royal extraction; he was the son 
of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, by his third wife, Catha- 
rine Swinford. He was commonly called the rich Cardinal of 
Winchester : he died in 1447. Shakespeare, who generally 



perhaps, any subject before him had possessed? 
— What availed it ? that amidst the terrors of 
death he consigned large sums to charitable of- 
fi es ! and least of all, what could avail the ten 
thousand masses which he ordered to be said for 

preserves historical truth very exactly, in the second part of 
Henry the VI. hath given us in lively colours, a description of 
the Cardinal's death. 

Scene, the Cardinal's Bed-chamber. 

Enter King Henry, Salisbury, and Warwick, to the Cardinal 
in bed. 

K. H. How fares my lord \ speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign, 

Card. If thou beest death, I'll give thee England's treasure. 
Enough to purchase such another island, 
So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain. 

K. H. Ah ! what a sign it is of evil life, 
Where death's approach is seen so terrible'. 

War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. 

Card. Bring me upon my trial when you will. 
Dy'd he * not in his bed ? where should he die ? 
Can I make men live whether they will or no ? 
Oh torture me no more, I will confess— — 

* Meaning the Du&e of Gloucester, of whose murder he was sus 
peeled, 



173 

his departed soul? Heaven is not to be pur- 
chased with gold, nor the favour of God to be 

Alive again ? then shew me where he is ; 
I'll give a thousand pounds to look upon him. — 
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them : 
Comb down his hair : look, look! it stands upright 
Like lime twigs set to catch my winged soul. 
Give me some drink, and bid th' apothecaiy 
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him ! 

K. H. O thou eternal mover of the heavens.. 
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! 
Oh beat away the busy meddling fiend 
That lays strong siege upon this wretch's soul. 
And from his bosom purge this black despair. 

War. See how the pangs of death do make him grin, 

Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. 

K. H. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be ! 
Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
Lift up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. 
He dies, and makes no signs. — O God forgive him ! 

War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 

K. H. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. 
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtains round, 

And let us all to meditation. 

P 2 



174 

bought with money. Oar redemption was not 
perfected by such corruptible things, but by the 
precious blood of Jesus Christ, as of a lamb 
without blemish and without spot ! and he who 
after an evil life, thinks to conciliate the regard 
of the Most High, by donations and masses, 
dies in a mistake as gross and fatal as that 
wherein he lived. 

Indeed, to the honour of the Protestant 
church, we must observe, that this most destruc- 
tive of all errors is seldom found within her 
pale ; at least, in comparison with its frequency 
in the Romish church ; where the religious or- 
ders are led to deceive even the souls of dying 
men for the sake of accumulating wealth for 
their own societies. Shocking and dreadful I — 
how contrary to the tenor of that gospel, by 
which we are assured, that the truly humbled 
heart, and penitent desire, a lively faith, and un- 
dissembled sorrow, can alone recommend us to 
the Father of heaven, through the merits and 
intercession of his only begotten Son! 

Before I conclude this chapter, let me point 
out to my reader a noble penitent of the Protes- 



175 

tant communion, as a contrast to this Cardinal 
of the church of Rome ; the late Earl of Roches- 
ter, I mean, whose life was defiled with every 
vice, but whose death was distinguished by the 
most exemplary repentance — a repentance, not 
shewn by external gifts, and the appointment of 
repeated masses for his soul ; but by inward con- 
trition, and a real sorrow for his past sins, by a 
desire to undo all the evil he had done, and to 
stop the current of all the mischief which unhap- 
pily owed its source to him ; — by an unfeigned 
application to the only Redeemer of lost sinners, 
and a fixed resolution to amend his life (if that 
life should be spared) and to be as exemplary in 
holiness, as he had been infamous in the practice 
of every vice, — This is true repentance :* and 
such a penitent Christ will assuredly redeem, as 
well from the guilt, as from the defilement of all 
his accumulated iniquities. 

* True repentance is a blessed token of the forgiveness of 
sins ; none ever truly repented of sin without its being' pardoned 
through the merits of Jesus's blood, which cleanses from all 
sin. 



CHAP. XV, 



Take physic, pomp : 



Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, 
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, 
And shew the heavens more just. 

Shakespeare. 

HIGH in health, and recumbent on the 
downy breast of prosperity and indulgence, Se- 
curus rejects our reflections with disdain, and 
will not, cannot bear to hear of death, the cruel 
spoiler of all our earthly comforts* " Away 
with the melancholy strain, 5 ' he cries; " I cannot 
endure the voice of this gloomy contemplative. 
Let him not approach to disturb my repose, nor 
like the hoarse and ill-boding raven croak his fa- 
tal admonitions in my ears." Ah, mistaken 
mortal, what troubles art thou treasuring up for 
a future moment !— pity him, heaven, who has 
no pity for himself 1 — We will leave him, then, 
though with sorrow and compassionate regret, 
and intreat thy attendance, oh serious and Chris- 
tian reader (who art not afraid to view those 
mournful but instructive scenes) to the sick, the 






177 

dying-bed of the poor man,* now that we have 
visited together, the superb vault of the affluent 
and noble. If thou art rich, perhaps thou hast 
never been called to so sad a scene, and the sight 
of it may teach thee gratitude and content :f if 
thou art poor, it will affect thy heart, and lead 
thee to a serious concern for futurity ; that both 
temporal and eternal evils may not be thy deplo- 
rable lot ! 

Come then, and let me lead thee up these nar- 
row and miserable stairs, to the wretched apart- 
ment, whither I myself was ere while led, and 
where the poor man lies languishing on the bed 
of emaciating disease ! Seest thou this dismal 
dwelling, foul, wretched and offensive ! 



* Carry me, my feet, to the temple of the Lord ; to the beds 
of the sick, and to the houses of the poor. 

Hervey's Meditations. 

f We are incited to the relief of misery, by the conscious- 
ness that we have the same nature with the sufferer: that we 
are in danger of the same distresses ; and may sometimes be 
obliged to implore the same assistance. 

Johnson's Idler, 



178 

Hear, the wind whistles through the shat- 
tered casement, ill defended by vile rags and 
darkened paper, sure mark of penury and dis- 
tress."^ 

Seest thou that w T retched object, pale and 
meagre, with haggard, staring eyes, and beard 
unshaven, stretched upon those flocks, with not 
a curtain round him, and with scarce a cover to 
conceal his wasted body ? 

Turn round and view upon the floor another 
miserable heap of tatters. It is the bed of two 
poor children of this afflicted sufferer ! and this, 
this place of woe, is the only habitation which 
receives and hides the heads of these poor and 
helpless children, with their wretched mother 
and himself! That woman, bathed in tears, and 
clothed in the ragged garments of poverty, is 
the wife, the mother of these unfortunate chil- 
dren — hapless wife, and still more hapless mo- 
ther ! 

* ^- Sore pierc'd by wintry winds, 

How many shrink into the sordid hut 
Of cheerless poverty. 

Thomson's Seasons. 



179 

But though narrow this apartment, though 
offensive and foul, it would well suffice, and be 
but little complained of, did not want, cruel 
want, here too fix her dreary abode ; could the 
mother supply the importunate demands of her 
hungry children, or alleviate the pains and suf- 
ferings of her oppressed husband. But alas ! the 
parish withholds relief from aliens to its rights, 
and how shall the charity of the beneficent, find 
out in their obscure retreats, the stranger and 
unknown ! 

Nay, but even poverty itself, with all its dire 
necessities, migh' p/ttiently be borne— well, very 
well, if fiducial dependance upon God, was but 
found in the sufferer's heart ; if heavenly hope 
dwelt in the afflicted breast; ii there was any 
prospect of an happy issue, when all these mourn- 
ful trials are overpast, and the soul safely landed 
on a future blessed and eternal shore ! but for 
this we enquire in vain 1 from the want of it 
proceeds far the greater part of these evils. 
When I came to talk with Egeno (so call we this 
poor man) concerning his soul, his faith, his 
hope, and future expectations ; he fixed his eyes 
upon me with the most unutterable anguish, and 



180 

elevating his emaciated hand, sighed out, " Alas ! 
alas! sir, sure I shall recover." " But if you 
should not," said I, " as God knows there ap- 
pears but little probability — what then? what 
says your conscience ?" " I cannot tell,'* he re- 
plied, " I know I have not been so good as I 
ought; but if I live, I will endeavour to be 
better."* 

I turned to his wife, to ask somewhat of his 
past life ; and to know whether, during his long 
illness (for he had been long declining) he had 
ever shewn any concern for his soul, or whether 
she had ever read to him lor his instruction ? — 
Weak and wretched as he was, he could reply, 
with abundant acrimony, " She instruct me ! — 
No, she had better first instruct herself, she 
wants it most." What greater shock could an 
humane heart feel, than to perceive a fierce al- 
tercation likely to ensue, between two persons so 
mutually and so deeply distressed ? I interposed 
with some authority ; and endeavoured with all 

* This is often the language of persons in sickness, who have 
lived thoughtless of God, their immortal souls, and a future 
state ; but alas ! how seldom (though life is spared) do they 
perform their bed promises of amendment and reformation ! 



181 

my power, to set forth the dreadful terrors of 
futurity, before the eyes of this unawakened sin- 
ner, just, just about to launch — oh horrible — 
into its awful gulph ! from whence there is no 
return. 

He heard me with attention, and I perceived 
at length a tear stealing down his pallid cheeks. 
" I have been miserable, 55 said the poor unhappy 
object, " all the days of my life ; and now I per- 
ceive that I must be miserable through all eter- 
nity too. 55 Upon hearing this, we could none of 
us refrain from tears. Oh, who could refrain ? 
to see a fellow-creature lying in exquisite dis- 
tress, soul and body equally estranged from com- 
fort, health, and ease ! — Oh, who could refrain ? 
to see a fellow-creature thus about to perish, ig- 
norant and hopeless, in a land where the glad 
tidings of the gospelare so constantly and uni- 
versally preached ! 

Moved with compassion, I endeavoured to 
offer some consolation — the utmost which I 
dared to offer. For alas ! how can the ministers 
of Christ exceed their commission ; how can 
they speak peace to those, to whom there is no 

a. 



182 

peace?* — But my offers were unavailing; he 
told me, " he had led a wicked and a careless 
life, and now he found that the end of it was sor- 
row and despair." After every argument to 
rouse and to console, I joined in prayer with 
him and his wretched household ; and exhorting 
him to earnest prayer, and fervent supplication 
for himself to the Father of our Lord Jesus 
Christ, I left them, designing on the morrow to 
renew my visit. 

But from this melancholy office I was pre* 
vented by his wife, who came in the morning to 
inform me that he expired in the night ; expired 
regardless, as it seemed of every thing ; utterly 
stupid, senseless, and unheeding. 

And thus too often it happens, that the minis- 
ter is sent for when the soul is at the last gasp,f 

* There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked. Isa. 
xiviii. 22. 

'•f Too many appear in the views of deaths to place too much 
dependance on, too much confidence in, and encourage them- 
selves too much from, receiving" the sacrament (at the hands of 
the clergyman) to hope that all will be well with them after 



when all hope is given up, and when all our en 
deavours, alas 1 are as inefficacious, as pouring 
water into a sieve. During almost a twelve- 
month's illness, Egeno thought not of God, of 
repentance, or of death. Just when the lamp of 
life was going out, just when the trembling soul 
fluttered on the verge of eternity, the alarm was 
given, and all was confusion, disorder, and dis- 
may. His whole life was a scene of care, of toil, 
of discontent, and sin. Neglectful, wholly neg- 
lectful of religion, his sabbaths were passed in 
trifling and drunkenness ; the scanty pittance he 
gained by his labour, was too commonly con- 
demned before it was earned : and his wife and 
children bewailed in hunger and want, the fre- 
quent disappointment of his wages. Hence arose 
brawls and contentions at home ; which render- 
ed the little wretched lodging still more wretch- 
ed. As no surplus was saved, his own, and the 
clothing of his family, was seldom superior to 
rags ; and he lived without a friend to serve, as 

death ; as if there was some merit in mere ordinances, cr par- 
taking' of them : no, it is a dreadful mistake ; nothing but re- 
pentance for sin, accompanied with true faith in Jesus Christ, 
can afford solid ground for hope of pardon,, salvation, and eter- 
nal life. 



184 

be died without a friend to succour him,* Mis- 
erable end of a miserable existence ! Fearful po- 
verty, and introduction to sufferings far more 
fearful !— 

Good God ! what is man ! how terrible is it 
thus to pass a few years in this vale of sorrow, 
comfortless, despicable, and abandoned : — to 
know none of the refreshments and delights of 
this life, and yet wilfully to forfeit all delights of 
the future ! But let me forbear making any re- 
flections, till I have shewn you the contrast of 
Egeno, in a man of the same occupation and the 
same rank of life, whom also I lately attended 
upon his death-bed — and would to heaven my 
latter end may be like his ! 

* Would to God, persons in the lower classes of life, would 
take warning from Egeno, and seriously think in time, of that 
eternity which awaits them beyond the grave. 



CHAP. XVI. 

The ports of death are sins ; of life, good deeds ; 
Through which the Saviour leads us to our needs : 
How wilful blind is he then, who should stray, 
And hath it in his power to make his way! 
This world death's region is, the other life's ; 
And here it should be one of our first strifes, 
So to front death, as man should judge us past it : 
For good men but see death, the wicked taste it. 

Rowe. 

IT is common, to hear circumstances and 
station in life, urged as an excuse for neglect of 
religion ; to obviate which, we have examples 
proposed to us of sincere and regular piety, in 
every station of life.* Thus we are shewn, that 
religion is incompatible with no worldly circum- 
stances ; and of consequence, no worldly circum- 
stances can offer a sufficient excuse for a disre- 

* It must be understood, that I speak here, of the honest 
and allowable stations of life. There are some professions, with 
which indeed religion is absolutely incompatible ; and therefore 
if a man would save his soul, he must either abjure these, or 
never think of salvation. The Autboki 

Q.2 



186 

gard to it.^ The wretched Egeno could urge 
his labour and poverty, — but how ineffectually ! 
Look at his fellow-labourer Mentor, and learn 
how weak and frivolous such an apology. 

Mentor was of the same occupation with Ege- 
no ,• worked in the same shop, and earned the 
same wages. Mentor, too, was a married man, 
and had children. Thus far there was a simili- 
tude ; but in other respects, where can that simi- 
litude be found ? — Diligent and punctual, Men- 
tor was never absent a day from his business, un- 
less detained by sickness or some necessary avo- 
cation; ever found in his duty, while Egeno kept 
holiday, and wasted his important time in drunk- 
enness and riot. 

Fearing God, and anxious to please him, Men- 
tor never refrained his feet from the church, 
and was a regular attendant at the blessed sup- 
per of the Lord ; strictly observing the Sabbath, 
and spending it as became a Christian, a hus- 
band, and^a father; while Egeno's temple was 

* It is a good proverb, " Prayers and provender hinder no 
man." 






187 

the ale-house, and his devotion only oaths and 
impiety.* 

Go to the places of their abode, and mark the 
contrast there also ; you have viewed that of 
Egeno — miserable scene of poverty! — At Men- 
tor's little dwelling all was neat, clean, and 
wholesome. He had procured a small house, 
with a good piece of ground, which he carefully 
cultivated with his own hands, when he returned 
from his work in the evening ; often rising an 
hour or two before the time of labour in the 
morning, to do the business of his garden, and to 
take care of his crop, which paid him well for 
his toil. His wife, industrious and careful, con- 
tributed her part with gladness ;f her children 
were brought up with every notion suitable to 



* Happy Mentor ! may thy example be more generally fol- 
lowed, while Egeno's is suitably reprobated and abhorred. 

f Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; 

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life, 
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Gray's Elect, 



188 

their station; and she omitted no opportunity te 
aid her husband's honest efforts by her frugality 
and pains. An aged mother dwelt under the 
same roof with them, and owed a comfortable 
subsistence to the pious affection of her laborious 
son. 

It pleased God to extend the life of this use- 
ful and worthy, though mean and unnoticed man, 
to a happy length ; for he lived to close his aged 
mother's eyes, and to pay the last duties of filial 
regard to her.^ He lived to see two of his sons 
capable of maintaining themselves in the world 
with decency and comfort ; and treading — dis- 
tinguished felicity of a parent! — in the steps of 
their father's sobriety and virtue if sons, to 
whose care he could with confidence leave his 



* Honour thy father and mother, that thy days may be long 
upon the land, which the Lord thy God giveth thee. Exod. 
xx. 12. This commandment accompanied with a promise 
plainly implied, if not fully expressed, is no little encourage- 
ment to the practice of filial piety and obedience. 

•f Happy proof of the good effects of a pious example and in* 
structions on the minds ot children, 






189 

wife, as their religion had taught them, that a 
peculiar blessing ever attends those who delight 
to honour their parents,^ and <( to rock the cra- 
dle of declining age. 5 ' 

How pleasing, how instructive to attend the 
death-bed of such a Christian 1 — Oh, ye great 
and vain, ye children of voluptuousness and 
pomp, how doth the death-bed of such a Chris- 
tian reproach your follies, and condemn your 
visionary views ! — On that bed I saw him ! — 
true, no consultation of physicians was held on 
his account; no damask furniture decorated his 
apartments; no carpets were spread over his 
floors ; vessels of silver and gold were not found 
to convey the little nourishment he took: — but 
ah ! what poor and wretched comforters are 
these, when the languishing body declares the 
fatal moment of eternal separation from this 
present world, near at hand ! How much more 
excellent the consolation arising from the testi- 
mony of an approving conscience I The more a 
man leaves behind him, the more reluctantly he 

* Exod. xx. 12. 



190 

dies :* to die is an easy matter to the poor; and 
to a good man, what matter is it whether he dies 
on a throne or a dung-hill? The only misfor- 
tune at the hour of death, is to find one's self 
destitute of the supports of true religion. J 

Mentor was not destitute of these : " I am 
arrived, sir, said he, at that period for which I 
was born, and for which 1 have been long pre- 
paring ; and blessed be God, I do not find any 
terrors in the approach of death. i Thanks be 
to God, who giveth us the victory, through our 
Lord Jesus Christ.' I am thankful to the good 
providence of my heavenly Father for all things ; 
— but how shall I express my thankfulness for 
his exceeding love in the precious gift of his 
dear Son ! Oh what a support is he to srnful 

* Covet not the riches, honours, or possessions of the great 
and noble ; for the less you have in this world, the less reason 
you will have to regret when you come to die, leaving* what you 
possess. 

f Thy force alone, religion ! death disarms, 
Breaks all his darts, and every viper charms. 

Blackmore's Creation. 



191 

creatures, like us, in this hour especially ! Bless- 
ed, for ever blessed be God, for his inestimable 
gift of redemption through the blood of the 
Lamb, offered up foT the sins of a rebel world." 

Rejoiced to see him thus triumphant over 
death, I congratulated his felicity, and remark- 
ed the vanity of worldly stations, when God dis- 
tributes his spiritual favours thus freely to the 
low as well as the rich. " True, sir," said he, 
" this is a sweet reflection to the poorer and 
meaner sort of Christians: it hath often refresh- 
ed my soul, and stopped every tendency of mur- 
muring and complaints, which are too apt to 
arise in our haughty hearts, at the sight of the 
rich, and their plentiful enjoyments.* And it 
was a pleasing thought often to me in the midst 
of my labour, that my divine and glorious Sa- 
viour stooped to a mean and toilsome employ- 
ment, and condescended to work with his own 
hands ; setting us an example, and thus allevia- 

* God frequently makes the poor in this world, rich in faith^ 
and heirs of his eternal kingdom, while he sends the rich empty 
away ; not many rich, not many mighty, not many noble are 
called. 1 Cor. i. 26, 27. 



192 

ting, to the true Christian, all the weariness of 
fatigue and daily pains, 

u The recollection of this, has frequently given 
me new life and spirits when I have been almost 
worn out, and ready to sink down with labour. 
And when I have considered all his loving-kind- 
ness toward me, which he has shewn in so many 
instances, I have always with joy persevered in 
my duty, and thought myself happy r hat I had a 
being to praise aad adore him. And now my 
race is run, and I am about to appear before the 
Judge of all the earth." u I doubt not," replied 
I, " you will appear with joy, and be for ever 
blessed in his kingdom." — " Through Christ, I 
trust I shall," said he : " my only hope and re- 
liance is on the precious Redeemer ; for oh, sir, 
what am I, what have I, but from him? — and 
alas ! what I have done is so imperfect and un- 
worthy, that it cries for pardon only, not for re- 
ward : can it be possible that any human being 
can talk of merit before God 1* Lord Jesus, 



* A sinner may plead for mercy at God's hands, but never 
can plead merit, without it is that of Christ's. 



193 

pardon the sinfulness even of my best and most 
holy services, and wash them in thy most pre- 
cious blood, which cleanseth from all sin.' 5 

" But,' 5 observed I, " though you depend not 
upon any thing you have done, nor apprehend 
the least merit or deserving in any of your own 
works, doth it not give your soul peace and com- 
fort, when you look back, and remember that 
you have done such works, or rather that you 
have in any measure sincerely endeavoured to 
obey the laws of Christ?" " Oh yes," replied 
he, " great, very great peace i without this, I 
could have no peace at all: for without this 
what test could I have of my sincerity in any 
respect? or how would I dare to expect any 
mercy from the Redeemer ? No, I bless him 
for enabling me, by his sovereign grace, to do 
any thing : would to God I had been more dili- 
gent, and had done more : without holiness no 
man shall see him : I have laboured after it with 
all my might, and to the best of my knowledge ;* 

* It is greatly to be feared many deceive themselves in this 
particular ; for where is even the best of Christians, who can 
truly say in the views of death, they have acted to the best of 
R 



194 

but am thoroughly sensible of the imperfections 
of my best endeavours. May the gracious Sa- 
viour pity my weakness, and perfect what is 
wanting in me !" 

He added much more : but from this the 
reader may easily collect, how happy an end a 
man of such just sentiments must make. He 
received the blessed sacrament from my hands, 
and never did I administer that sacred ordi- 
nance to a more elevated Christian. I remem- 
ber one passage in our conversation struck me. 
" Sir," said he, " though I had never no great 
learning, I have always been pleased with read- 
ing ; and from some book,* early in my youth, 
I was taught to consider myself as a pilgrim, ap- 
pointed to travel through this world to the other, 
where I was to remain for ever. This notion 
made a great impression upon me ; and I ever 
afterwards used to consider myself as a travel- 

their abilities, 01* done all that was in their power, to approve 
themselves the children of God ? Alas ! every one must ac- 
knowledge after having done all they are able to do, we are 
but unprofitable servants, Luke xvii. 10. 

* Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, 



195 

ler, and therefore entertained no great hopes or 
fears respecting any thing below ; but looked 
continually to the end of my journey, the happi- 
ness of which, I was persuaded, depended on 
my right management of myself during my stay 
here.^ And this thought was the occasion, not 
only of much content to my soul, and of much 
peace and resignation under every affliction and 
cross accident: but of my continued attention 
to duty, and of the exactest caution in my daily 
walking. 5 ' 

Such was Mentor; whose life and death were 
equally amiable and exemplary. What a con- 
trast to the wretched Egenol What man but 
could wish to die the death of the former? — 
then let him take heed not to lead the life of the 
latter.! Ye sons of men, in the humbler stations 
of life, read the important lesson before you. 
Look at the examples, and revolve their ends : 

* A just conclusion, worthy to be adopted and attended to, 
by every son and daughter of mortality. 

f To live the life of the righteous, is a good ground to hope 
of dying the death of the righteous. 



196 

—avoid the vices of Egeno, and copy the vir- 
tues of Mentor. — So will you live in credit, and 
die in peace. * 



CHAP. XVII. 



Exhort servants to be obedient unto their own masters, and to 
please them well in all things ; not answering again — not 
purloining", but shewing all good fidelity; that they may 
adorn the doctrine of God our Saviour in all things. Tit. 
ii, 9, 10. 

Let thy soul love a good servant,— and defraud him not of his 
liberty. Eccles. vii. 21. 

AFTER having attended the death-beds 
of the busy and the gay, the noble and the poor; 
after having surveyed the issue of life spent in 
those pursuits, which are common to mankind 
in general, and contrasted every character, to 
make each more striking ; I intended to have 
stopped here, and considered death in a general 

* Isa. lvii. 2. 



197 

view, — to have offered arguments and consola- 
tions against the fear of it ; and as a conclusion, 
to have contemplated the great things which fol- 
low after, — judgment, heaven, and hell.^ 

But a funeral, at which I was called lately to 
officiate, leads me to postpone these reflections 
to a following chapter; that I may pay some tri- 
bute to the memory of an humble man, whose 
virtues deserve to be had in honour, though his 
low station denies him the loud applause of pub- 
lic celebrity. But why should fame be the pre- 
rogative of greatness; of worldly greatness and 
external splendor? — To do well, and to deserve 
in every station, is to be great, and ought to ob- 
tain praise — and will obtain praise ! — Yes, ye 
sons of obscurity, whom no titles dignify, — 
whom no pedigrees ennoble, — but whose virtu- 
ous actions are more illustrious than either,— 
yes, ye shall inherit praise, as much superior to 
that which men, the world, and time can give, — 

* Death, judgment, heaven, and hell, think, Christians, think, 

You stand upon eternity's dread brink ; 

Faith and repentance seek with earnest prayer ; 

Despise this world, the next be all your care. 

Trapp. 
R 2 



198 

as God, as heaven, and eternity are superior to 
all these. 

This bright and blessed honour is not confer- 
red according to rank, birth, or title ; but to high 
and low, rich and poor, the glorious price is held 
forth alike, and to him who doeth best, shall the 
best recompense be given. % — Yet one sure me- 
thod to obtain this blessing in that kingdom, 
where all distinctions eternally cease, is to act 
and live agreeably to those distinctions and sub- 
ordinations, which God hath wisely appointed 
upon earth : I mean the sure method to obtain 
God's favour, is to acquiesce thankfully in that 
station of life, wherein he hath placed us ; and 
with entire submission, to discharge faithfully 
and uniformly all the duties of iw\ 

So thought the worthy man, whose decent fu- 
neral was lately solemnized. He had been ser- 
vant in a neighbouring family above twenty 
years ; and during that time had abundantly ap- 
proved himself by the strictest fidelity. A rare 
example, when the depravity of this order 

* Gen, iv. 7. Rom. ii. 6, 7. f Rev. U. 10. 



199 

amongst us, is the subject of universal complaint, 
and the severest tax upon the domestic felicity 
of numbers I Though perhaps the cause and the 
remedy of the evil are both to be drawn from 
other sources, than those which are generally 
proposed : to be drawn rather from the heads of 
families, than from those who act in menial ca- 
pacities.* A prudent and conscientious master, 
for the most part makes prudent and regular ser- 
vants ; and it is from the increase of such exam- 
ples, that we must expect improvement in our 
attendants. 

Petrucio (so call we the subject of our present 
chapter) was happy in this respect ; happy in a 
master, whose own life was regular, and whose 
great care was to discharge every duty, which 
he owed, particularly to his servants. He was 
well recompensed by the love and fidelity of his 
servants in general, but of Petrucio in particu- 
lar. This faithful domestic had right notions of 
God, himself, and his duty. He murmured not 



* The influence of example in good masters is generally be- 
neficial respecting servants:— would to God they had no other 
examples set before them. 



200 

at the inferiority and servility of his own condi- 
tion : he knew it was the will of God ; as such 
he received it with thankfulness, and lived in it 
with cheerful content: considering himself as 
the servant of Christ, he acted conscientiously, 
as desirous to please him, and not man only* 

Reflecting that the eye of God, if not of his 
master, was always upon him,* he feared to 
neglect his duty,f and thought it a poor excuse 
for himself, if he could escape the notice of an 
earthly observer, while all his actions were mi- 
nutely scanned by him who searches the inmost 
secrets of the heart. Hence he served not " as 
a man-pleaser, but as the servant of God, in 
singleness of heart as unto Christ ; not with eye- 
service, but as the servant of Christ, doing the 
will of God from the heart ;" all his service was 
done with a good will, not with a morose restraint 
or sourness, — as to the Lord, and not to man 

* Omnia cum videat, nulli Deus ipse videtur. 

Mant. 

j- w Thou God seeth me," is a reflection ever to be remem- 
bered by all, and will prove a successful antidote to the wilful 
practice of known sin Gen. xvi. 13. 



201 

only, — for he knew, and ever bore in mind that 
comfortable truth, " That whatsoever good 
thing any man doeth, the same shall he receive 
of the Lord, whether he be bond or free."* 

In consequence of these right principles, Pe- 
trucio ever esteemed his master's interest, as 
essentially connected with his own ; and would 
as soon have suffered the extremest punishment, 
as to have joined in any collusion to defraud, 
much more to have himself defrauded his mas- 
ter. It was his constant endeavour to preserve 
the strictest economy in every part of his trust, 
and he would express the highest wonder and 
deepest abhorrence at many of those infamous 
arts, which modern polite servants would fre- 
quently advise him to practise, and to which 
tradesmen, for the basest ends, would often at- 
tempt to allure him. 

" Though I am in a state of servitude upon 
earth, 55 he would often say, " I hope to be in a 
state of freedom with God hereafter : but how 
can I hope for this, if I am deficient in those 

* Ephes. vi. 5, &c. 



202 

easy duties, which are required in my present 
station ? For surely, when all the necessaries of 
life are found me, it is easy to be just and faith- 
ful, honest and industrious — nay, gratitude itself 
alone should lead to this, for his sake, who pro- 
vides so well for me ; and who requires certainly 
that I should repay all his expense, with every 
worthy and cheerful endeavour possible on my 
part.* 

We may well believe that a servant with such 
notions, must be uniform and excellent in his 
whole conduct. And such indeed was Petrucio. 
He received every order with silence and humi- 
lity : he executed every order with diligence 
and punctuality. He pretended not to be wiser 
than his directors ; and he was a stranger to the 
odious malapertness, which is one of the dis- 
tinguishing qualifications of contemptible mo- 
dern valets. His long continuance in the family, 
had wrought in his breast a tender affection, not 
only for his master and mistress, but also for 

* Would to God, servants in general would take pattern 
from Petrucio, and think and act as he did ; happy indeed 
would the master of such servants be, and happy would be 
servants in so doing:. 



203 

their children and relations : and at length their 
interest was become so peculiarly his own, that 
he shared in all their joys, and partook of all 
their sorrows. 

The fruits of his fidelity were the confidence 
and esteem of his master and mistress ; the af- 
fection of the family ; the reverence of his 
fellow-servants ; and a comfor ^bk saving, on 
which he proposed to live, if ever he should have 
cause to quit the service ; and which, dying in it 5 
he had the pleasure to bequeath to a widow- 
sister and her children, whom it rescued from 
many difficulties, and placed in a happy situation^ 
above dependance and necessity. 

During the time of his last sickness, he fre- 
quently declared that the tenderness and regard 
of his master and mistress to him, more than 
overbalanced the merit of all his former services^ 
and were an abundant recompense to him. For 
Petrucio had a generous mind, and was sensible 
of affectionate treatment.* His master every 

* Gratitude is commendable and praiseworthy in all ; from 
the poor and needy to the wealthy and benevolent, as well as 



204 

day visited his sick room, and read and prayed 
by his bed-side : his mistress with her own 
hands administered his medicines, and took care 
to supply him with the most proper nourishment. 
His humility alone could equal his gratitude and 
thankfulness on such occasions ; and when upon 
his expressing his great obligations his mistress 
once said, that " this, and much more than this, 
was due for his faithful services." " And that 
word, madam,' 5 said the honest fellow, with 
tears in his eyes, " that word is a reward suffi- 
cient for more than twenty times such services 
as mine." 

Thus died this useful worthy man: and to do 
all honour to him, his master buried him at his 
own expense, with all the decency and propriety 
conceivable :— -six neighbouring farmers, tenants 
to his master, bore his pall ; his master and mis- 
tress walked as chief mourners ; the rest of the 
family attended in procession, and had mourn- 
ing given them on the occasion ; and so great 



from every rational creature under heaven, to their great Crea- 
tor, Benefactor, and Preserver, who giveth to all liberally and 
upbraid eth not. 



205 

was the esteem in which this faithful servant 
was held (who, I should have observed, was the 
willing and joyful' hand by which his master and 
mistress distributed their liberal charities) — that 
scarce a dry eye was seen at his funeral : and his 
death and funeral, I persuade myself, have done 
more to reform the servants in that part of the 
world, than twenty lectures to them could have 
achieved. " See how Petrucio, though a ser- 
vant, is honoured and respected I 5? — was the ge- 
neral cry ; and the general reason given on all 
hands was, " Because he was faithful, honest, 
and industrious." 

And let servants, in conclusion, be told, that 
if they would obtain such favour here, and such 
recompense as Petrucio doubtless hath obtain- 
ed, their only method is to go and do likewise ; 
is to imitate his example ; is to make their mas- 
ters' interest their own. The best motive upon 
which they can do this, is to consider, that in so 
doing they serve the Lord Christ, and may be 
assured, that, according to their fidelity, so shall 
they reap hereafter. For God is no respecter of 
persons."^ 

* Acts x. 34. 
s 



206 

*^* I subjoin to this chapter the following 
excellent rules, which were sent by an unknown 
hand, entirely agreeing with the gentleman who 
sent them, — " That if they were hung up in all 
kitchens and servants' halls (printed on a large 
sheet) they would be extremely useful*" 

To faithful^ honesty and industrious Servants. 

A GOOD character is valuable to every 
one, but especially to servants, for it is their 
bread ; and without it they cannot be admitted 
into a creditable family : and happy it is, that 
the btst of characters is in every one's power to 
deserve* 

II. Engage yourself cautiously, but stay long- 
in your place ; for long service shews worth, as 
quitting a good place through passion is a folly, 
which is always repented of too late.* 

III. Never undertake any place you are not 
qualified for ; for pretending to do what you do 

* Every servant, whether male or female, who attend to 
those rules, will be approved and respected, by all whom they 
are called to serve. 






207 

not understand, exposes yourself, and what is 
still worse, deceives those whom you serve. 

IV. Preserve your fidelity; for a faithful ser- 
vant is a jewel, for whom no encouragement can 
be too great. 

V. Adhere to the truth, for falsehood is de- 
testable ; and he that tells one lie, must tell 
twenty more to conceal it. 

VI. Be strictly honest ; for it is shameful to 
be thought unworthy of trust. 

VII. Be modest in your behaviour ; it be* 
comes your station, and is pleasing to your supe- 
riors. 

VIII. Avoid pert answers ; for civil language 
is cheap, and impertinence provoking. 

IX. Be clean in your business ; for slovens 
and sluts are disrespectful servants. 

X. Never tell the affairs of the family you be- 
long to ; for that is a sort of treachery, and often 



208 

makes mischief; but keep their secrets, and have 
none of your own, 

XL Live friendly with your fellow-servants ; 
for the contrary destroys the peace of the house. 

XII. Above all things avoid drunkenness ; 
for it is an inlet to vice, the ruin of your charac- 
ter, and the destruction of your constitution. 

XIIL Prefer a peaceable life with moderate 
gains, to great advantages with irregularity. 

XIV. Save your money, for that will be a 
friend to you in old age ; be not expensive in 
dress, nor marry too soon. 

XV. Be careful of your master's property : 
for wastefulness is sin. 

XVI. Never swear, for that is a sin without 
excuse, as there is no pleasure in it. 

XVII. Be always ready to assist a fellow-ser- 
vant ; for good nature gains the love of every 
one. 



209 

XVIII. Never stay when sent on a message ; 
for waiting long is painful to a master, and quick 
return shews diligence. 

XIX. Rise early, for it is difficult to recover 
lost time. 

XX. The servant that often changes his place, 
works only to be poor : for the rolling stone ga- 
thers no moss. 

XXI. Be not fond of increasing your acquaint- 
ance ; for visiting leads you out of your business, 
robs your master of your time, and puts you to 
an expense you cannot afford ; and above all 
things take care with whom you are acquainted, 
for persons are generally the better or the worse 
for the company they keep. 

XXII. When out of place, be cautious where 
you lodge ; for living in a disreputable house, 
puts you upon a footing with those that keep it, 
however innocent you are yourself. 

XXIII. Never go out on your own business 
without the knowledge of the family, lest in your 

s 2 



210 

absence you should be wanted ; for leave is light, 
and returning punctually at the time you pro- 
mise, shews obedience, and is a proof of so- 
briety, 

XXIV. If you are dissatisfied in your place, 
mention your objections modestly to your mas- 
ter or mistress, and give a fair warning, and do 
not neglect your business, nor behave ill, in or- 
der to provoke them to turn you away ; for this 
will be a blemish in your character which you 
must always have from the last place you served. 



CHAP. XVIII. 

Faith builds a bridge across the gulph of death* 
To break the shock blind nature cannot shun ! 
And lands thought smoothly on the farther shore, 
Death's terror is the mountain faith removes : 
That mountain barrier between man and peace . 
'Tis faith disarms destruction, and absolves 
From every clamorous charge the guiltless tomb. 

Young. 

WHILE wrapt in the silence of the night, 
I take my solitary and contemplative walk in 



211 

the church-yard, with what a feeling concern do 
I reflect on the living world around me ! — How 
e riking the contrast 1 Here rest in peace the 
well-nigh forgotten remains of those, who once, 
it may be, filled up busy spheres on the earth.^ 
All those distinctions which they so anxiously 
courted, are now for ever done away : all those 
animosities which they so warmly agitated, are 
now for ever hushed and forgotten ; and all those 
complainings and sighs which they so mourn- 
fully uttered, are silenced, are silenced for ever, 
and heard no more. — Yet on the great theatre of 
the world the same parts are still acting, the 
same ardour for place and pre-eminence ; the 
same propensity to malice and envy ; the same 
repinings and lamentations are found : — as if 
generations preceding read no lessons of in- 
struction ; as if men utterly forgot that their 
hour appointed was hastily advancing. 

" Oh that they were wise, that they under- 
stood these things* that they would consider 

* Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forgotten laid, 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

Gray's Elegy in a Country church-yard, 



212 

their latter end !"* Benevolent wish ! for no- 
thing so powerfully, so strongly teaches, as a 
consideration of that latter end f — which is of 
general concern, for every son of Adam is equally 
interested therein. Can we reflect upon the day 
of dissolution approaching, when every sublu- 
nary hope shall cease, and every worldly project 
vanish as the shadow ? Can we survey the so- 
lemn mansions of the dead, where the mingling 
dust bespeaks the folly of earthly pre-eminence 
and honour, — and yet pursue, with unremitted 
chace, the fleeting vanities of life ? and yet in- 
dulge, with unrelenting hearts, the burning pas- 
sions, which torture human peace, and murder 
man's best felicity? — Nay, can it be possible that 
we should look beyond the grave, and recollect 
that an existence everlastingawaits us, and not use 
every wise, every scriptural method to secure to 
our souls the comforts of that existence, when 
time hath closed upon us, and we have bidden 
an eternal adieu to all things here below.J 

* Deut. xxxii. 29. 

t See Hervey's Meditations among the Tombs, page 23. 

£ Since we can die but once, and after death 
Our state no alteration knows ; 



213 

Thrice awful meditation ! May its powerful 
instructions deeply impress my soul ! Nothing 
teaches like death. It is indeed the wages of 
sin, and a fearful evil, we must needs allow it ! 
But then it is a persuasive monitor, and superior 
to all things, convinces us of, and leads us to 
combat and conquer sin. 

The sting of death is sin. From thence we 
may plainly discover, what is the grand remedy 
against its fear and its power to do harm. De- 
stroy sin, and death becomes no longer formida- 
ble ; he cannot hurt or annoy, for his sting is 
taken away. But how shall we achieve this 
desirable enterprise, how destroy the sting of 
death ? It is done, already done for us ! " Thanks 
be to God who giveth us the victory, through 
our Lord Jesus Christ."* 

But when we have resignM our breathy 

Th' immortal spirit goes 

To endless joys or everlasting woes ; 

Wise is the man who labours to secure 

That mighty and important stake, 

And by all methods tries to make 

His passage safe, and his reception sure. 

Vohtret, 

* 1 Cor. xv. 5T> 



214 

Here then, thou trembling mortal, who art 
every day distressing thy feeble soul with the 
fear of approaching death, — here behold the first 
and greatest consolation under it : u Faith in 
Jesus Christ," who through death destroyed 
him who had the power of death ; and will de- 
liver thee from that fear of death, which all thy 
life time hath kept thee in bondage 1 Look to 
that triumphant conqueror, who died on the 
cross, and lay in the grave, to sanctify it for us : 
see in his precious redemption a full pardon for 
all thy offences; and with the eye of faith stead- 
ily fixed upon him, thou also shalt triumph over 
an enemy already vanquished.^ 

This is the grand remedy against, and chief 
«onsolation under the fear of death, " the know- 
ledge and love of Jesus Christ :"f which properly 
understood, comprehends every other consola- 
tion. But that we may not be misunderstood, 
let us as a second consolation and remedy, re- 
commend to the soul, desirous of victory over 
this fearful foe, " an earnest care to live a life of 

* Believe, and look with triumph in the tomb. 

Night Thoughts. 

t Whom to know aright is life eternal. John xvii. 3. 



215 

gospel obedience through that faith in Christ,"^ 
which indeed without such obedience, will be 
found too weak to support the firm structure of 
a joyful hope. Live as you would wish to have 
lived when your anxious head is laid upon the 
dying pillow :f live as the gospel of that Saviour 
directs, through whom alone you expect salva- 
tion ; live as you are assured he will approve. 
The prospect of death will then animate your 
soul with fortitude and delight: and you will 
have a desire to be dissolved and to be with 
Christ, which is best of all. J 

There again we enjoy another consolation, 
exquisite and unspeakable, under the apprehen- 
sions of death ! " We shall be with Christ!' 1 
We shall live with him, and be like him ! Like him 
in purity and holiness, and like him in happiness 
too ! — Transporting thought ! Can death be es- 

* True faith works by love in the heart, to Christ, his ways, 
ordinances and. ; eople ; and obedience in the life, to all his 
laws, precepts, and commands. 

f Repent, believe, and mourn your errors past, 
And live each day as though it were your last. 

Rural Christian* 

J Philip, i, 23. 



216 

teemed an evil — nay, rather, must we not wel- 
come that as our greatest good, which conveys 
us from a dying world, like the present, to a 
kingdom, where joy, and rest, and peace, shall 
eternally surround us? — But of this we shall 
speak more hereafter. 

Another reflection which ought to abate our 
fears, and reconcile us to death, is " the abso- 
lute certainty, and unavoidable necessity of it. ?? 
Could our fears at all avail to prevent the stroke, 
or even to respite it, they might well be allow- 
ed, and we should have some plausible reason to 
urge in their support. But alas, the stroke is in- 
evitable.* Surely then it is our wisdom to fa- 
miliarize ourselves to an event, which must 
come shortly, and which, to render us still more 
watchful, may come instantly. Claim ye then 
no more the character of rational, ye simple ones 
of the earth, who start at the thoughts of death, J 
and use every method which ingenious thought 
can devise, to dissipate and drive it from you. — 

* Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shait return. Gen. 
iii. 19. 

t The thought of death alone the fear destroys. 

Dr. YorxG. 



217 

Lo, the moment comes, and utterly unprepared, 
ye must stand before your God. — Conquer your- 
selves : and remembering that death will come 
when it will come, review it in all its circum- 
stances, and learn through Christ, to gain a 
happy victory over this dreadful leveller of all 
human distinctions. 

Reflect of what will death deprive you : not 
of being — which to us must certainly be of all 
things most dear. No ; the soul cannot cease 
to be j it only changes its circumstances and 
state. 

il But it separates those old and familiar 
friends, the body and the soul." — And let us 
bless God for the separation. For can we re- 
gret a separation from that flesh, which is the 
seat of sin and of diseases, and which from both, 
hath so frequently afflicted us with the most 
piercing distress ? No ; farewell then to the 
body (we will say with joy) since thereby we bid 
an eternal farewell to sickness, pain, and sin. 

* To be absent from the body and present with the Lordj 
will be, more or less, the wish of every real believer in Christ, 
2 Cor. v, 8. 

T 



218 

" But death separates us from this world I' 7 
True ; and it introduces us to one, utterly un- 
like the present, where sorrows and losses, dis- 
appointments and trials, shall never more be 
known. — " But it separates us from our friends V* 
— Afflicting separation ! The tender heart must 
bleed, and the affectionate eye cannot fail to drop 
a tear ! Yet look forward, and behold—see in 
the blissful realms to which thy spirit is soaring — 
friends, immortal and unalterable friends await- 
ing thy glad arrival ! — and perhaps many already, 
many near to thy heart, have gone before thee, 
and will give thee a joyful and blessed welcome. 
Nay, yet a little while, and thou shalt receive to 
thy rejoicing embraces, those whom thou hast 
left weeping in this vale of sorrow.^ 

Armed with these consolations, who shall fear 
the stroke of death ? Who but must rejoice to 
relinquish this scene of trial and trouble, and to 
commit their souls into the arms of an ever-liv- 
ing Redeemer,f who died to save his people 



* Though death will come, yet give your sorrows o'er 
For all those pious friends, who're gone before, 
You'll meet ere long in heav'n, to part no more. 

g. tr> 

t job xix. 25, 



"i 



219 

from their sins : of a Father, whose unwearied 
care is over all his works, and whose watchful 
providence extendeth to the minutest concerns 
of all his creatures ? In that reviving truth the 
soul must find comfort, as under every trial and 
affliction, so especially when the moment of 
death approaches ; which a child submissive to 
the better will of such a father, will receive with 
thankfulness and Christian resignation ! 

As therefore death must come, and after 
death, judgment, and a state of bliss or misery 
unalterable, let us, like the wise virgins, keep 
our lamps always ready trimmed and burning, 
that we may never be found unprepared.^ And 
that we may still be excited to a stricter watch- 
fulness — let us contemplate those great things 
that are to come hereafter; let us now suppose 
ourselves, as summoned to appear before the 
judgment-seat of God ;f and as about to receive 
the eternal reward of our deeds,J — heaven or 

* Mat. xxv. 10. f Acts xvii. 31. John v, 28, 29. 
| 1 Pet.i. 17. Rom.ii. 11, 12. 

And is there a last day ? and must there come 
A sure, a fix'd, inexorable doom ? 



The Judge descending, thunders from afar, 



220 

hell ; — -affecting thought ! Holy Father — we 

tremble and adore ! Blessed Jesus, be our ad- 
vocate and intercessor ! 



CHAP. XIX. 

Shall man alone, whose fate, whose final fate 

Hangs on that hour, exclude it from his thought ? 

I think of nothing else : I feel ! I feel it ! 

All nature, like an earthquake trembling round ; 

All deities, like summer's swarms on wing ! 

All basking in the full meridian blaze ! 

I see the Judge enthron'd ! the flaming guard ? 

The volume open'd ! open'd every heart ; 

A sun-beam pointing out each secret thought ! 

No patron ! intercessor none ! now past 

The sweet, the clement, mediatorial hour ! 

For guilt no plea : to pain no pause, no bound! 

Inexorable all ! and all extreme. 

Night Thoughts, Night IX. 

DID our existence end with this life, how 
little to be dreaded, yea, in many cases, how 
much to be desired were death ! But our exist- 

And all mankind is summon'd to his bar. 
The echoing voice now rends the yielding air. 
For judgment, judgment, sons of men prepare. 

Dr. Young's Last Day. 



221 

ence doth not end with this life ; eternity is be- 
fore us ; and it is eternity which makes death of 
so much consequence.* How awful, how alarm- 
ing is that representation which the sacred scrip- 
tures give us of the solemn day approaching, 
which is to determine our fate for this eternity ! 
Let us contemplate the stupendous scene ; fot 
who can dwell upon such interesting reflections, 
without serious thoughts, and heaven-directed 
resolutions ? The steady belief of a future judg- 
ment is sufficient to make all men zealous in 
duty.f 

The doctrine of a future judgment is peculiar 
to the Christian revelation. Human reason could 
never discover it ; for human reason could not 
discover how the God of the whole earth would 
be pleased to deal with his creatures, and with 

* Beyond the grave two states alone remain, 
Of endless pleasure, and eternal pain. 

Solitary Walks. 

f . . . . . . If there is an hereafter, 

And that there is, conscience, uninfluenc'd, 
And sufter'd to speak out, tells every man, 
Then must it be an awful thing to die. 

Blair's Grave, 
T 2 



222 

that world which he has formed for them. — But 
in much mercy, to animate and awaken our best 
desires, the eternal Lord of all hath declared, 
that an endless and unalterable state is reserved 
for us, happy or miserable, as we comply with, 
or refuse the terms of his covenant : and that 
upon a day appointed, he will pass the righteous 
sentence upon all ; when those who have done 
good, shall go into eternal life, and those who 
have done evil, into everlasting fire.* 

Alarming, important truth! — What thinking 
creature can be indifferent to it! Picture the 
awful scene to your view; imagine yourself now 
called to the bar of inviolable justice ! there en- 
throned in glory unutterable, sits the sovereign 
Judge, the gi acious Redeemer ! Thousand thou- 
sands ministering unto him, and ten thousand 
times ten thousand standing before him ! See 
that earth, once the seat of all your cares and 
fears, now wrapped in universal flame : hark, the 
heavens are passing away with insufferable noise ; 
the sun is extinguishing ; the stars are started from 
their spheres, and all this system of created things 

* Mat. xxv. 46. 



223 

is hastening into utter destruction ! The trump, 
the awakening trump hath sounded, and all the 
dead, rising from their sepulchres, are summon- 
ed to appear before the impartial Judge !* 

Oh, terrible distress! — Where, where shall 
we fly, if conscience condemns us, and we dare 
not approach that impartial Judge ? In vain shall 
we call upon the rocks to hide, or mountains to 
cover us ; rocks and mountains are themselves 
dissolving ; they can give neither shelter for our 
heads, nor support for our feet.f In vain shall 
we solicit our friends to intercede ; — our friends 
shall be then too deeply concerned for them- 
selves to regard the cause of others ; and what, 
i | — what could patrons or friends avail, when 
" the clement, the mediatorial hour" is now ab- 

* Man starting* from his couch, shall sleep no more ; 
The day is broke which never more shall close ; 
Great day of dread, decision and despair ! 
I see the Judge enthron'd, the flaming guard; 
The volume open'd, open'd every heart. 

Night Thoughts. 

•f Where, where for shelter shall the guilty ffy, 
When consternation turns the good man pale ? 

£)r. Young. 



224 

solutely passed and gone ; — and we have not 
made him our intercessor, who would have been 
as mighty to save and reward, a? he now is to 
punish and avenge ? What too will dissembling 
profit us ; or how can we expect to deceive him 
whose eyes are as a flame of fire, who pierceth 
into the heart's inmost recess ? Who will lay 
open before us the whole volume of our lives, 
and place in the universal view of all, those 
thoughts, and words, and deeds of darkness, 
which in vain we secreted from tire eyes of our 
fellow-creatures upon earth — for who can escape 
the eyes of Omniscience ? 

Can tongue express, can heart conceive the 
anguish which will rend our souls, when the 
dire sentence of condemnation shall pass—a 
sentence from his lips, which breathe only mercy 
and love to the just; — and which we despise, 
while calling to us upon earth with the most pa- 
thetic invitations, — " Come unto me, and I will 
give you rest.* Aggravating circumstance i We 
have abused his love ! We might have been 
blessed, eternally blessed. — But now the fatal 

* Mat. xl §$ 



225 

moment is arrived, " Depart from me, ye curs- 
ed, into everlasting fire, prepared lor the devil 
and his angels,"* is the dreadful malediction, 

No, my soul, through this Redeemer's never- 
changing love, we will hope, confidently hope to 
avoid the horrors of this extreme distress. And 
oh, that every soul of man would, with such com- 
posed and solemn thought meditate upon it, that 
joyful songs of thankfulness only might on that 
day be heard : that with humble trust we might 
approach the Judge's throne, and find in him,—- 
not the Almighty avenger, — but the Father, the 
Saviour, and eternal Friend ! 

What can equal the goodness of our God? ov 
what could we desire more gracious at his hands, 
than that he should seat upon the tribunal of jus- 
tice, that Son, that only begotten and beloved 
Son,f who once came to our earth, not to judge, 
but to be judged ; who died for those sinners, 
on whom he is now willing to confer an eternity 
of bliss. £ 

* Mat. xxv. 41. t J° hn v - 22. 

| O may I breathe no longer, than I breathe 
My soul in praise to him, who gave my soul 
And all her infinite of prospect fair. 



226 

Happy he, who, convinced of this sovereign 
grace, looks continually and stedfastly, with the 
eye of faith, to that great day when the Saviour 
shall come in the clouds ! — Then shall his fear 
be for ever removed, and all his anxious doubts 
shall vanish as the smoke ; then with an accent 
of melodious sweetness, with a look diffusing 
love and joy ineffable, the great Redeemer shall 
welcome him, together with all those who have 
been faithful unto death, shall welcome them 
and say, "- Come, ye blessed of my Father, re« 
ceive the kingdom prepared for you from the be- 
ginning of the world !" — Nay, he shall vouchsafe 
to enumerate those general deeds of Christian 
benevolence, which such souls have performed 
through their faith in him : and not only enume- 
rate, but acknowledge them, as if they had been 
conferred upon himself, — u Inasmuch as ye did 
it unto the least of these my brethren, ye did it 
unto me. 55 * 

How forcible, how affectionate a motive to us, 
now in the day of our pilgrimage, to be diligent, 

Cut through the shades of hell, great love ! by thee, 
O most adorable ! most unador'd. 

Night Thoughts, 
* Mat. xxv. 40. 



227 

continually and unweariedly diligent in all such 
acts and offices of love ! Christ will accept them, 
our Redeemer, our Judge, our hope, and our all, 
will accept our tender charities to his members, 
and our fellow-creatures ; will accept our works 
of faith and labours of love,* as if we had been 
happy enough to have had an opportunity of per- 
forming them, even to his own person. And 
publishing the grateful tidings to all around, he 
will allow us to partake of his triumph, and to 
enter, amidst his returning saints and angels, 
those regions of glory and peace, where we shall 
live with him, and enjoy everlasting happiness. 

But we will refer to our next chapter what we 
have to add respecting the peculiar blessedness 
of that state, and the exquisite misery reserved 
for those u who know not God, and who obey 
not the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, who 
will be punished with everlasting destruction, 
from the presence of the Lord, and from the 
glory of his power 5 f when he shall be revealed 

* 1 Thess. i. 3. 

f Prostrate, my contrite heart I rend : 
My God, my Father, and my Fr'end! 
Do not forsake me in my end I 

Lord Roscommon. 



228 

from heaven with his mighty angels, in flaming 
fire, taking vengeance ; and when he shall come 
to be glorified in his saints, and to be admired 
in all them who believe in that day. 5 '^ A pas- 
sage of scripture which cannot fail greatly to in~ 
fluence those who give it that attention which its 
importance deserves: for who can think of ever- 
lasting destruction, from the presence of the 
Lord, and the glory of his power, without an 
anxious desire to avoid that destruction, the very 
terror of which chills the heart. 



CHAP. XX. 

And these shall go away into everlasting punishment* but the 
righteous into life eternal. Mat. xxv. 46. 

ETERNAL punishment! Eternal life! 
What awful words ! What solemn events ! Who 
can read them, and be unconcerned? Who can 
think of them, and be indifferent to the mo- 
mentous truths they impart ? — Were our exist- 
ence to terminate with the present passing scene, 
indulgence might be laudable, and every self- 

* 2 Tim. i. 7. 



229 

gratification right.^' <c Let us eat and drink, for 
to-morrow we die : let us crown ourselves with 
rose-buds ; let none of us go without his part of 
our voluptuousness ;" would then be the lan- 
guage of reason and truth. — But eternity before 
us — consummately blessed, or consummately 
wretched — and death every moment shaking his 
dart triumphantly over us, preparing to strike 
once, and strike no more ; — can it be possible that 
any rational being should remain unsolicitous, 
and neglect to prepare for the important realities 
of eternity, while chasing, with unremitted ar- 
dour, the fugitive vanities of time and sense ? 

Yet, alas! many beings, proud of their facul- 
ties, and boasting their superior reason — are 
found, are daily found, immersed in sin, and ri- 
vetted to the world ; — heedless of God, of them- 
selves, and immortality ! uninfluenced by every 
motive of gratitude, unmoved by every argu- 

* If death was nothing", and nought after death ! 
If when men died, at once they ceas'd to be, 
Returning to the barren womb of nothing 
Whence first they sprung, then might the debauchee, 
Untrembling mouth the heavens, and inly laugh, 
At the poor bug-bear death. 

Blair's Grave. 
U 



230 

merit of interest to obey the voice of religion 
and truth, and to secure the eternal salvation of 
their souls I Oh, that they would indulge one 
serious reflection ; that they would condescend 
a while to meditate with us, on the miserable 
woe reserved for those who forget their God: — 
on the inexpressible comforts jivhich they shall 
reap in joy, who love and serve him. 

Think then, my fellow-creatures, oh! think of 
that awful day of which we spoke before,* and 
imagine, if you can, the horror which must seize 
the souls of those who hear the dreadful sen- 
tence, " Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting 
lirei" — Driven from the presence of God, which 
is itself complete and perfect joy ; driven from 
the society of those best^beloved friends, whose 
kind remonstrances they would not hear on 
earth, and now, — ah ! fatal separation — now 
must never, never more hear or behold I And 
driven thence — aggravatihg circumstance I even 
by the condemnation of that Lord of love, who, 
desirous to bless and to save, freely shed even 
his own most precious blood, and as freely 
would have given them life, had they but hum- 
bly asked it.f 

* In the last Chapter. f Mat. xxiii. S7. 



231 

And were not this, only this expulsion from 
God, from Christ, from Heaven — of itself a hell 
sufficient, yet what horrors remain behind ! They 
shall be driven into the lake which burnetii with 
fire and brimstone, whose actual and insuffera- 
ble tortures shall aggravate the mind's inward 
horror. — Oh I " who can dwell with everlasting 
burnings 1"^ yet where, where shall one drop of 
water be found to cool the parched tongues ? 
who can dwell where devils and condemned 
souls shall mix their mutual and insulting taunts 
and upbraidings ? where there shall be no socie- 
ty, but a society in common accusations, and 
where, every gentle passion expelled, the tu- 
multuous workings of despairing minds shall 
miserably confuse and distract each other. 

There too the passions, which were indulged 
and gratified on earth, shall become severe tor- 
mentors, ever craving, yet never finding gratifi- 
fication ; ever consuming the anxious heart, 
themselves never consumed* — There the worm 
of an accusing conscience never dieth ; there 
the flame of self-condemnation and burning guilt 
shall never, never be quenched. f 

"* Isa. xxxiii. 14, -f Isa. UvL 24. Mark ix, 44, 



232 

Where shall the soul find comfort ? shall it be 
in the companions of its earthly crimes con- 
demned to the same place of woe ? Alas, those 
companions will then be found the sharpest 
thorns to goad the guilty mind. Fierce hate 
will seize the place of former love, and they will 
curse each other in the bitterness of their souls, 
as the mutual causes of each other's undoing. 
But, little consolation being found in accusing 
others, their upbraidings will speedily recoil 
upon themselves.^" Then only will be heard — 
(ah me i the very thought is anguish) for ever 
heard, dire gnashings of teeth, weeping and 
wailing, execrations and sorrow. — Yet neither 
is this all : for though peace and rest enter not 
there; though one gleam of joy shall never 
pierce through the darkness of their distress ; 
yet all this, and more, might be borne well, very 
well— did hope, fair comforter 1 who comes to 
all, did she but ever come, and cheer the 
wretched sufferers with the sweet alleviation, 

* Against the Highest fiercely they blaspheme 
But then again their own mad choice condemn ; 
Much they curse God, but curse themselves much more, 
In concert the sulphureous torrents roar. 

Trapp. 



233 

that, years on years passed by; that ages upon 
ages gone ; a period will be put to this consum- 
mate misery, and the prisoner of hell be set free. 
But this hope is withdrawn."^- 

Oh eternity, eternity 1 — how fearful is the 
thought 1 And wilt thou, oh manj for the mo- 
mentary delusions of sin, plunge into this gulph 
of punishment unutterable, unending! 

At least, my soul, let the prospect be profita- 
ble to thyself; and struck abundantly with its hor- 
rors — infinitely more alarming than thou canst 

* In Miiton's Paradise Lost, we find the following tremen- 
dous description : 



He (Satan) views 



The dismal situation waste and wild : 

A dungeon horrible on all sides round 

As one great furnace flam'd : yet from those flames 

No light, but rather darkness visible 

Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, 

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades ; where peace 

And rest can never dwell ; hope never comes 

That comes to all ; but torture without end 

Still urges, and a fiery deluge fed, 

With ever burning sulphur unconsum'd ! 

Book I. v. 60, &c, 
U 2 



234 

imagine or paint — turn thy view, and let us con- 
template the more pleasing scene, the life eter- 
nal, and endless pleasures which the dear Re- 
deemer hath in store for those, who, by patient 
continuance in well doing, seek for glory, ho- 
nour, and immortality.* 

But if an inspired apostle, who was favoured 
v/ith the rapturous prospect, declares, that it 
hath not even entered into the heart of man, to 
conceive the greatness and excellency of the 
good things reserved for the righteous ; how 
shall we attempt to spell them out, dark habit- 
ants in cottages of clay ! May it not suffice to 
know, that the happiness we expect, will be in 
every view complete? happiness, without the 
least mixture or alloy of discontent or dissatis- 
faction.! — Pleasing truth ! yet not entirely suffi- 
cient to gratify our thirsty and inquisitive souls. 

In condescension to our weakness, — or, per- 
haps I might say — our strength — (for earnest 
desires after the knowledge of immortality, 
doubtless bespeak the soul immortal) — however 

* Rom. ii. 7. t *■ Cor « xiii - 1 ^« 



235 

in great goodness, certainly, the Lord of life has 
vouchsafed to us some glimpses of that future 
felicity,* which may render us desirous to know 
more, and animate every endeavour towards the 
possession of so exalted a good. 

We feel evil so sensibly, that perhaps we can 
form a better idea of heaven from its negative, 
than its positive blessings. Who among us is a 
stranger to sickness, to sorrow and pain ? Who 
among us is a stranger to the comfort which 
would follow an entire exemption from these 
corporal evils ? — Now in heaven, our bodies 
spiritualized, and our souls made perfect, we 
shall never know pain of body, or pain of mind: 
sorrow and tears shall never have admission 
into those realms of joy,')* 

But happy as our state should be, freed from 
those cruel spoilers of our peace, yet of death 

* Everyone shall enjoy as much as they shall be able to con- 
tain, or shall be necessary to complete their joys and perfect 
their happiness. 

This bottomless source of glory and bliss, shall forever and 
ever overflow all the glorified in heaven, and satisfy their souls 
with unspeakable delights. Drelincourt. 

t Isa. xxxv. 10. li. 11. 



236 

and dissolution we are certain, the eminence of 
our bliss would only render the stroke more 
dreadful. In heaven to secure the perpetuity of 
our delight, there shall be no more death :* this 
mortal shall put on immortality — and eternally 
free from pain and sorrow, we shall fear no end 
of the transporting scene. 

Positive blessings, numberless and unuttera- 
ble, shall attend these negative ones. God will 
not only wipe away all tears from our eyes ! — 
will not only invest us w T ith eternal security in 
bliss ; will not only remove every thing defiling 
and noxious from those regions of joy ; but he 
himself will dwell among us, and be our God.f 
— He, the adorable Father, with the Lamb of 
Love, and the Spirit of Holiness, shall be the 
object of our divine contemplation.- — He, the 
blessed and all-glorious Deity, whose presence 
is joy, and bliss, and heaven, shall be the life, 
the light, the praise of the new Jerusalem, and 
all its divine inhabitants ij Love shall reign tri- 
umphant in every heart, every pure and celestial 
desire shall be gratified in full : every holy and 
devout affection shall find its adequate supply; 

* ReVc xxi. 4. | Rev. xxi. 3. | Rev. xxii* 5. 



237 

and one uninterrupted scene of thankfulness, se* 
renity, and comfort, shall smile eternally, and 
eternally be found ; where the harps of ten thou- 
sand times ten thousand shall unctasingly be 
tuned to the praises of the Father of mercies, 
and the Lamb who sitteth on the throne, for 
ever, and ever.* 

Come then, Lord Jesus ! come and put a 
speedy period to this miserable world of confu- 
sion and sin ! Hasten, blessed Lord, hasten thy 
kingdom ; whence every evil shall be wholly re- 
moved, and where all good shall be found which 
can perfect the bliss of men and angels ! Faint 
and dark, indeed, are our earth-bound concep- 
tions of this consummate glory, and of that 
which thou hast purchased for thy servants — 
purchased at a price which may justify our most 
elevated hopes, even at the price of thine own 
life, and ever precious blood ! Yet through the 
riches of thy wondrous grace, the humble Chris- 
tian, who by faith now enters into rest, hath 
some sweet foretaste, some pleasing anticipa- 
tion of the joys to come. 

* Rev. v. 11, 12, 13. 



238 

Love, grateful love, looking to thee, feels a 
transport which enraptures the soul, fills it with 
sweet complacence towards all its fellow-crea- 
tures ; and makes the afflictions of this transi- 
tory world light and easy to be borne — nay, 
which makes death itself no longer formidable, 
but devoutly to be wished, as the happy convey- 
ance of an imprisoned spirit to its God and its 
hope : to its freedom and perfection : to its dear 
departed friends, and all the joys of a blissful 
immortality. 

Give me, oh ! give me divine love, the boun- 
tiful bestower of every good gift! shall I expe« 
rience the beginning of heaven in my heart, and 
die with full persuasion that the fair bud will 
burst into a perfect blossom — that my joys, be- 
gun in grace, will be ere long consummated in 
glory everlasting.* 

For thee, too, my reader, let me offer up this 
fervent prayer : " Oh ! mayst thou feel and be 

* Grace will complete what grace begins, 
To save from sorrows and from sins : 
The work that wisdom undertakes, 
Eternal mercy ne'er forsakes. 

Dr. Watts. 



239 



made perfect in the love of Christ!" so will thy 
life be blessed below ; so will thy death be com- 
fortable ;* so wilt thou be made partaker of thy 
Saviour's kingdom. 

Serious and important have been the subjects 
which have employed our mutual meditations : 
may they be impressed no less strongly on thy 
heart than on my own : may they awaken thee, 
if careless, to a life of devout meditation ; may 
they confirm thee in that life, if happily thou art 
already devoted to it. This, this you may be 
certain is the only road to peace ; this, this 
you may rest assured of is the only true wis- 
dom of human nature. 

Earnestly wishing thee much success in thy 
Christian course, I bid thee farewell ■ and ex- 
hort thee to keep thine eye steadfast on the au* 
thor and finisher of thy salvation. All besides, 

* What wise man would not live the life of the righteous 
that his latter end may be like his ? that in the agonies of death 
and in the very jaws of the grave, no disturbing thoughts may 
discompose him, no guilty fears distract him, but he may o- 
out of the world with all the joyful presages of eternal rest and 
peace. „ 

SHERLOCK. 



240 

will fail and forsake thee.* But a little while, 
and as well the hand which hath written, as the 
eye which reads these lines shall become cold ' 
and inactive, and moulder in the dust: speedily, 
oh my friend, our days will be completed, and 
we must bid an eternal adieu to all things here 
below ! Then let us live like men conscious 
this solemn truth—let us live like those who 
know they must ere long die ; who know that they 
must live for ever.— So shall we make sure our 
own salvation ;t and, however, strangers to each 
other here, shall meet and rejoice together in 
that blissful kingdom above, where sorrow and 
affliction shall be known no more. 

* All, all on earth is shadow, all beyond is substance. 

Night Thoughts. 

t Philip, ii. 12. 2 Pet, i. 10. 



THE END 



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